


The Power of Grayskull

by TheHatefulM8s



Category: He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adam is a 10-Year-Old-Feral Child, Adora and Adam, Adora/Catra is Canon (She-Ra), Catra and Adam, Catra is a Babysitter, F/F, F/M, For the Horde!, Gen, He-Man on Etheria (2018), Hurt Adora (She-Ra), Hurt Catra (She-Ra), Hurt/Comfort, Like Really Longfic, M/M, Oblivious Adora (She-Ra), Princess Adora (She-Ra), Romance and Drama, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, The First Ones (She-Ra), canon divergence - season 1, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 166,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatefulM8s/pseuds/TheHatefulM8s
Summary: The words had always been there. When little Adam raised his sword and said them, he became something strong enough to survive alone on Eternia's wastelands. But one day he arrived on Etheria, a mysterious place full of life, monsters, and strangers. Everyone here seems to want something from him, but he only wants his newfound sister, Force Captain Catra. For her, he'll do anything.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 109
Collections: She-Ra





	1. A Final Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to any new possible readers,
> 
> I'd just like to put forward that we chose to tag The Power of Grayskull as a Catra/Adora fanfiction, but the story picks up at the show's beginning, so if you're looking for a story that starts off with the two already together, this story might keep you waiting. 
> 
> Also, please note that this story will routinely feature depictions of children facing neglect, being imperiled by fantasy danger, and occasionally being on the receiving end of verbal and physical abuse. For those understandably made uncomfortable by this, I can promise that scenes depicting these things tend to not go overlong, but if any amount of such imagery makes you too uncomfortable to enjoy most narratives, you may want to proceed cautiously or pass on this story altogether. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and special thanks to Hector for editing. 
> 
> -Homer

“Alert,” the soft, genderless voice broke the silence in the Crystal Castle’s Administration Chamber, “alert. Administrator, please respond. Alert.”

Light-Hope materialized with a flicker. The soft blue ambiance of her body cast long shadows on cracked, dusty screens. 

“Administrator absent,” she said, “reroute message to Light-Hope.”

“Alert,” the soft voice repeated, “Error. Highest Level Clearance required.” Light Hope’s holographic face did not display any emotion as her mind, one the metaphorical size of a dwarf star, rapidly approached the issue from ten-thousand angles.

She rooted through the white-noise of her expansive data archive, barely acknowledging the way thousands of years had eroded her memory beyond repair, and produced an early date file. One of her first. It had been flagged as important at some time. For what reason, the program had forgotten.

“Happy to meet you, Light Hope. My name is Mara,” Light-Hope played the recording to the empty room, “Administrator Clearance 1985.” The computer pinged a greeting.

“Administrator, Heart of Etheria is experiencing a Level 3 Magical Event,” the voice said. Light-Hope rerouted some of the precious power she still had to the screen above her. It displayed the intricate map of the planet’s anatomy, the Runestones ringed it like orbiting satellites. They hovered over their ley lines and pumped power up from the very heart of the planet.

It was a circulatory system that could, with a single stroke, rebalance the ruling authority of the entire universe.

“Power levels read optimal,” Light-Hope said, “readings are defective, flagging this subroutine for maintenance.”

“Acknowledge, Administrator,” the voice said, “ this is the twentieth iteration of this alert. Recommended course of action: alert Administrator of maintenance subroutine failure.”

Light-Hope’s logical sensors flared. That made no sense. These readings projected imminent doom that didn't seem to exist, but the castle's computer was rarely so off-base. Never twenty times in a row. 

“Timestamp for last leyline maintenance report log,” she commanded, a twinge of preprogrammed fear edging her forward.

“Eighteen-Thousand Two-hundred and Sixty-Two daily cycles of the Etherian calendar.” Five decades had passed since then. Her memory banks had been scoured of almost any information not related to the She-Ra Program or the Heart of Etheria Project.

But it had been so very, very long since Mara. Everything was running together.

“Timestamp for maintenance request ten,” Light-Hope said. There had to be something, somewhere. 

“One-hundred eighty thousand six-hundred and twenty-five daily cycles of the Etherian calendar.”

Five hundred years ago. A cycle. This wasn’t a system failure. She should know this. She _had_ to know this somewhere deep down.

“Administrator,” the subroutine piped up, “may I make a recommendation?”

Light-Hope’s face glitched with a scowl. Independent use of the designation ‘I’ was not part of subrotine protocol. This was her privilege and only her’s. 

The Crystal Castle was decaying, her along with it. Soon it would be too late. Her logic sensors began to blare red and a safety-lock program kicked on to prevent her from spiraling out of focus. 

_Accessing She-Ra Program. Historical Records. File title: ‘Children of Eternia’. WARNING. VIDEO CORRUPTED. AUDIO AVAILABLE._

“It’s been so very long,” the old woman’s voice was strong even as it struggled for breath, “I’ve forgotten so much of it. We were children of Eternia. But I remember the sword. The sword was meant for Adora. She disappeared. And the boy…he’s gone. Long gone. I-I don’t want to talk about this anymore! Nurse. Nurse! Get these people out of here! Forget me. Forget Eternia! It's lost. Lost forever, along with everyone we left behind.”

_END PLAYBACK._

“Adora,” Light-Hope said to herself, “Adora is here. Adora is the answer.” She examined the map once more. Power output still read as typical everywhere. “Search memory database for notes with keyword 'Maitentence.'”

“Note from Administrator after initial maintenance request,” the subroutine answered, “‘The Alignment of the Spheres. Moons orbiting Etheria can cause the heart to fluctuate in unpredicted patterns, potentially entering a hypercharged state. If moons align, energy burn is needed to prevent a catastrophic failure of Project Etheria. Timestamp-“

“Stop,” Light-Hope’s form wavered. She didn’t need the time stamp. Mara had never been so clinical when life or death was on the line. It was her own note. She had to trust it. An energy build-up. One that confounded her system’s readings. Of course it did, she realized, since Project Etheria was intended to be completed a thousand years ago.

The power radiating off Etheria’s heart wouldn’t go away. It would build up in the leylines and shatter the planet, and more importantly, ruin the Heart of Etheria.

Her mind raced. She had to summon Adora. If they had a little time they could prepare the Heart for activation and ride it to success at the apex of power output. Her subroutine system interrupted once more.

_Accessing Adora Personality Profile. Now Playing ‘Lateness’._

_“This tardiness is unacceptable.”_

_“The Horde was attacking a refugee convoy! I had to do something!”_

_“Adora, your destiny is greater than this. Balance must be restored to Etheria. You must train more rigorously.”_

_“She-Ra is supposed to be a hero! I couldn’t stand by and let it happen… and I_ **_won’t_ ** _let it happen, Light-Hope. I’m sorry I’m late. But it was for a good reason!”_

A good reason. Late to a thousand years of sacrifice and struggle for ‘a good reason’.

“Commence energy burn process,” Light-Hope said. There would be no time to argue with Adora. Draining the leylines would have to suffice, once again.

“Process is projected to complete in three Etherian daily cycles,’ the subroutine chimed. 

Light-Hope watched impassively as all the power in the planet was siphoned away from the Heart of the Etheria and vented out into open air. Wasted potential.

“A good reason,” she repeated, “the sword was meant for Adora.”

\---

“Hey, Catra!” Catra scowled at the intrusion on her bad mood. She’d been letting the steady drip of water off her left ear slowly drive her mad. A shower, necessary as it was, had been the cap to a day of irritations. She had come to her usual spot, high on the top of Comm-Tower 3, to air dry and sulk.  
“Go away,” she mumbled in her fist. She glared down into the green inferno of the Fright Zone, idly considering what she’d change when she came into power. The first would be to section off this perch as her private brooditorium. Violation of its sanctity would be severely punished.  
“I knew I’d find you up here,” Scorpia said, “I feel like we’re really starting to get to know each other’s quirks and tastes. A month ago I would’ve never found you!”  
“Yea, those were the good times,” Catra groused. “What do you want, Scorpia?”  
“I mean,” the Force Captain began, Catra’s ears twitched as she heard two giant claws tapping nervously together, “I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You’ve been quiet since we…yknow… got routed by the Plumerians. They pelted us with all that onion-gas. I mean…I’m over it and I’m sure you’re over it but its okay to feel upset. Y’know?” Catra’s fingers curled around the railing under her feet.  
“Yeah,” she said, “over it.” She glared at Hordak’s imposing tower, mind racing with dark imaginings of Shadow Weaver’s report. She’d already run through an escape plan in case the worst should happen. A skiff into the Whispering Woods, take her chances on foot from there.  
It ate at her to think that she’d have to follow Adora’s plan once again.  
“So,” Scorpia began, “do you think they’re ok?” Catra rolled her eyes.

  
“Who?”  
“Our troops?” Scorpia said, looking nervously to the northwest, out past the wastelands. “The ones that got taken captive?” Catra’s stomach twisted up. Lonnie, Rogelio, Kyle, and the rest of her barracks were in Rebel hands at this very moment. That wouldn’t go over well with Lord Hordak.  
The mission to Plumeria had disguised itself as the first real lucky break she’d had…ever. When Shadow Weaver summoned her she’d expected another ‘find Adora’ mission but, after a stern reminder that Salineas had been her fault and not the old sorcerers’, she’d been told differently.

  
_‘The Rebellion is focused on recruitment,” Shadow Weaver said, poring over some dusty old tomes, not even half paying attention to the Force Captain. “An incursion on the borders of Plumeria might bear fruit if the Princesses are tied up elsewhere.”_   
_“No She-Ra? No flower princess?” Catra had asked._   
_“Are you relieved about that, child?” Her corpse-white eyes had glanced up and pinned her to the wall with their scrutiny. Behind her the Black Garnet seemed to spark eagerly with bolts of red lightning like it was about to explode. Catra sneered to keep her teeth from chattering._   
_“No. Just bored,” she said, “I’m worth more-”_   
_“Do you understand your orders?” Shadow Weaver glanced back to her book, eyes crinkling with a smile as she found what she was looking for._   
_“Yes, but-”_   
_“Go,” Shadow Weaver said, “do not bother me anymore.” She had said before turning to a map of the night sky, displaying the movements of the twelve moons of Etheria._

No flower princess. No sparkle princess. No boy with arrows. No Adora.

  
No challenge, so she’d thought. She shivered at the memory of an empty swath of forest. Muggy, close and filled with noise. Chitters and bird calls. All of it a screen disguising the Plumerians. Plumerians! Gardeners who hadn't fought back once since the Old Princess Alliance went and ground itself to pieces on the Fright Zone’s front gate.  
Then came the ululations and cries of ‘Plumeria! Brightmoon!’ Then, noxious clouds of stinging gas from every direction. Eyes burning and sensitive nose searing, Catra had barely clawed her way out of the sudden press of bodies as her detachment fell on itself in terror. A defiant voice called after her as she fled.  
“Go tell Hordak we are not his victims any longer! We’ve found our inner-strength!”

  
She’d escaped with Scorpia trailing behind her and they’d taken a long, quiet skiff ride back home.  
“Hey,” Scorpia said, “so…wanna go hang out or something? Y’know, ma says de-stressing is paramount to effective leadership. Otherwise you could bottle it up and take it out on your subordinates.”  
“You are so annoying,” Catra finally snapped, “and…” her nose twitched at an overpoweringly zesty smell. Layered under it was the heady stink of the onion-gas.“You smell!”  
She leaped away, keeping perfectly balanced on the railing, and raised her hackles. She faced the muscular Scorpioni for the first time and noted a light red stain across her alabaster hair.  
“Aw,” Scorpia said, “ma said the tomato juice would leech the smell right out. Nerts.” Catra covered her nose, overwhelmed by the pungent combination.  
“Ma who?” she asked, voice a little nasally. Scorpia chuckled. Catra snarled. “Don’t laugh at me!”  
“I wasn’t! I would never…you’re not joking?” Scorpia said. Catra flushed angrily at the concern in her comrade’s eyes.  
“Who is Ma? Another Force Captain? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You smell worse!” She knew she was being unnecessarily harsh and could not find the will to stop it. The smell wasn’t even bad, per se, but far more powerful than anything Catra had picked up in the Fright Zone.  
“My mom,” Scorpia said, “my mother? A mother is-”  
“I know what a mother is!”  
“Well, that’s ma. My ma. Her name is Serket.” Scorpia trailed off at the sheer fury in Catra’s eyes. Her claws flexed anxiously and her tail curled around her waist. “What’s up, buddy? You’re kinda staring into my soul, there.”  
“Why,” she cursed her shaking voice, “do **you** get a mother?”  
“Huh?”  
“I said ‘How do you know who your mother is’?  
Scorpia gave her another blank look. Catra spun on her heels and began to vault to the very top of the Comm-Tower. Scorpia raced after her.  
“Hang on! Wait, Catra, please don’t be upset. It's just…you went to Force Captain Orientation, right?”  
“No!” She snarled over her shoulder.  
“Oh,” Scorpia said, chuckling like it was all a big joke, “well, then like yeah. I’m a Princess…ex-Princess? Maybe more of a could’ve-been Princess? Of course I know my mom.” Her smile died at the way Catra's blue and yellow eyes had doubled in size.  
“Oh,” Scropia said with a nervous laugh, “so that's news too, huh?”

“Another princess,” Catra’s claws sank into the metal of the tower with a screech, “another princess!” She lunged down and prowled right up into Scorpia’s face and Catra felt a sick satisfaction at how she backed away. “Of course you are! Of course! And what’s _your_ special powers, huh? Talking people to death? Giving people ulcers with your-” She snarled when Scropia gasped. “What?!”  
She felt the tears on her cheeks. It was the stupid onion-gas irritating her eyes again, she hadn't gotten all of it.  
“Catra,” Scorpia began, all concern and no terror, “hey, it’s ok. We’ll get through this. I know we will!”  
“We,” Catra scoffed, turning away and rubbing at her eyes, “yeah, sure. Get away from me, Scorpia, before they decide you’re going to Beast Island too.” Catra’s elbowed tapped a piece of hard plastic on her chest and she ripped off the badge she’d been wearing a few short weeks. The bat-winged symbol of the Horde mocked her.  
“I don’t have any,” Scorpia said after a moment. Catra looked up from her badge with a tired sneer. “Powers, I mean. Nothing. Never have, never will.” She grinned and flexed. “Not that I need them, right? With these babies. I got where I am because…well, my mom helped... She’s a retired Commander…but I had to pass everything on my own. No special powers.” Her grin tensed. “No friends helping me train. All me. Just by myself.”  
“Hooray,” Catra mumbled, “way to go, Force Captain Scorpia.”

  
“Way to go, Force Captain Catra,” Scorpia countered playfully, “you don’t brag, but I heard you got your badge from Lord Hordak himself. So that’s y’know…wow!”  
Her ears perked up. The truth was somewhat less glamorous than that. ‘Filling a vacancy’ was perhaps more appropriate, but if people thought otherwise, that could work for her. Catra found herself smiling.  
“Aw,” Scropia nudged her with an elbow, “that’s what I like to see!” The smile vanished. “Right. Personal bubble. Still learning.” Catra looked over the badge again. From the distance of the roof, it seemed as large in her hand as the tower of Lord Hordak, where Shadow Weaver was delivering her report.  
“It’s not real,” she said, “any of it. It’s just plastic and paint.” She turned it idly in her fingers, playing with it like a dead mouse, heedless of how far it would fall if she slipped. “Power shouldn’t look like this. It should be…harder to take away.” A face entered her mind. Blue-eyed and grinning, framed by lustrous golden hair and a tiara. “It should be a part of you.”  
“Walk the walk and talk the talk,” Scorpia said, “absolutely. You’ve got a great strut. And an amazing sneer! I swear, sometimes I really feel you like don’t like me. It’s just…” Scropia kissed her right claw like a proud chef, “mwah. Perfect.”

  
“That’s not what I meant,” Catra sighed, “I mean it shouldn’t be something somebody can just…throw away or-or take from you. Something ‘real’. They hear your name and _run screaming._ They don’t step to you about anything because they _know_ they can’t stop you.”  
“Say no more! I’ll take the job!” Scorpia beamed. Catra’s ear flattened in annoyance.  
“What are you talking about?” Scorpia flexed, snapped her pincers, and lashed her tail. She somersaulted and dove from one end of the roof to the other. Every few steps she jabbed the air with her claws. If Catra hadn’t known the doofy personality behind each solid strike, she might’ve been intimidated. Scorpia finished her little show by ripping a steel bar from the railing and throwing Catra a wink.  
“And this one is for the all pretty ladies out there,” she held the bar overhead and, with a casual grunt of effort, twisted it into the vaguest shape of a heart, smiling at Catra through the middle of it. “I am a lean, mean, fighting machine. And nobody, but nobody, is ever gonna disrespect you again while I’m around.” She tossed the bent steel away and struck a pose.  
Catra stared at her for a long moment.

  
“Mean?” She said at last.  
“Pfft, I can be the meanest,” Scorpia laughed, “it’s not sugar water in this stinger, let me tell you, _its venom_. “ She lashed the air with her tail once for emphasis. “I’m not scared of anybody or afraid to say what I think.”

“Ok, go head,” Catra took to tossing her badge up and down as she looked Scorpia over, “go on. Show me. Mean.” Scorpia chewed her lip and said all at once.  
“Lord Hordak! He’s…he’s uh,” her face suddenly paled, “do you think there are like cameras or microphones up here? No way right? There’s no way he’d put those up here.”  
Catra nodded slowly.  
“Shadow Weaver,” Scorpia said, seizing onto the name like a lifeline, “now she’s…uh. You wouldn’t repeat anything I said to her, right? You guys don’t seem all that close, but I know people sometimes let things slip and-”

“Me,” Catra said, “say something mean about me. Without flinching.”  
“Well, now-”  
“And I’ll hang out with you for the rest of the evening. No complaints.” Scorpia’s mouth slammed shut around her protests and her eyes flicked in every direction. She gave Catra a valiant attempt at a glare.  
“You…could…take constructive criticism a little less personally,” she managed to say. Catra snarled and nearly dropped her badge as she stepped forward. She caught herself at the last second and affected smug indifference.

“That’s all? Scorpia. Come on,” she said, “Mean. Make me feel like garbage.”  
“Your hair is messy,” Scorpia got it out faster than before but she looked disgusted with herself when she said it. Catra, hiding a smirk burst into heaving fake sobs.  
“How could you?” She said. Her play-acting ended in a wheeze as iron-hard arms squeezed her into a hug. Her badge clattered to the Comm-Tower roof, sliding dangerously close to the edge.  
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” Scorpia wailed, “I don’t really mean that! Who cares what I think! It’s your hair and it looks great! Please forgive me.”  
“Get off of me,” Catra growled, “now!” Scorpia was too caught up in her own contrition to hear her and Catra was assaulted with the overwhelming smell of whatever ‘tomato juice’ was. She wriggled herself free and scurried to the railing, snatching her badge along the way.  
“Mean,” she crowed, “sure.”

  
“Well,” Scorpia said, “I’m still real, real strong at least!”  
“It's not about that,” Catra snapped, “listen for once instead of just standing there. I’m talking about something bigger than a soldier. A weapon! I’m talking about magic!”  
“Magic?” Scorpia gasped. Like all Hordesmen, they’d been raised to be suspicious of all forms of magic. Catra had been raised to be especially wary of it. Though for her own reasons.  
That was the catch, though. Red lightning had danced along her skin before and frozen her in place. The threat of it never left her mind, even years after the fact. That fear. That awe. That was power.  
“And intelligence,” Catra started pacing on the railing, deftly stepping one the centimeters of round steel that separated her from a fatal plummet. “A whole bunch of stuff rolled into one thing! Mean. Smart. Strong. Loyal-” she paused, one bare sole slamming hard into the railing to steady herself. “-I mean obedient. It won’t turn on you.”

  
“Not sure about obedience. But that sounds a lot like She-Ra.”  
“Uh, I said ‘smart’ didn’t I?” Catra grumbled petulantly.  
“Still,” Scorpia chewed her lip and glanced away from Catra. Catra glared at her.  
“Still?”  
“Is it She-Ra you want, or is it…” she trailed off. Catra felt her heart twist up with humiliation and she pounced off the railing, slamming the bigger woman onto the roof.  
“Say it! Say her name, I dare you!” Her claws tapped heavily onto Scorpia’s armored shoulders. The harsh tomato smell made her eyes water again and she saw Scorpia’s shock through a bleary reflection.  
“A friend,” she squeaked, “I was going to say you want a friend! That’s all.”  
“You,” Catra blinked rapidly as her rage subsided, “you…you would say that, wouldn’t you? Go away, Scorpia. I wanna be alone.” She hopped off her and crouched back in her spot on the railing.  
“Sure boss,” Scorpia said, rising, “but you know, that’s alright too. Wanting a friend? Like feeling stressed or afraid. It’s alright.”  
“You’re ‘ma’ teach you that?”  
“Yeah,” Scorpia smiled, “she did actually-” she clammed up at Catra’s dark glance.  
“Lucky you.”

  
“Yeah,” Scorpia gulped, “lucky me. Um. If you wanna talk or anything just hit me up on the badge?” Catra’s badge chirped in her hand as Scorpia pressed on her own. “I’m always ready to lend an ear.”  
Catra glared at the distant tower and held her silence until the dejected Force Captain had left her alone.  
“A friend,” she spat, “sure. That’s ‘real power’.” She glared up at the cloudy sky, fuming over the fundamental unfairness of life. Alone.  
Utterly alone.

  
\---

The boy woke up alone, as he always did. His cub was off hunting down their breakfast and the spot next to him had grown cold. The stones got chilly inside the gray castle, especially when he slept in the old west watchtower, which was cooled by a near-constant breeze from the surrounding badlands He sat up and adjusted the raggedy clothing he wore.  
The purple tunic was his blanket, bed, and armor all in one. Animal hide. Covered in rich purple fur from hood to the long hem below his knees. Idly, he rattled them the curved fangs that held it closed at his neck. Soothing himself with the smooth feeling of the bones.

  
He yawned and shook his head, stretching out his legs.His grimy bare toes touched frigid steel.  
“Ah!” Scooting backwards he shot a little glare at the sword, as if he could shame it for startling him. Greater than the length of his whole body, it was made of a metal tempered to a faded sky-blue. The sword had always been there before the cub or the boy’s tunic. As long as he could remember the sword had always been there.  
He drummed uneven, dirt blackened nails on the beautiful blade before he clasped both of his hands around the simple hilt. He levered the sword up with considerable effort, his bare biceps flexing with the weight. He leaned forward and stared into the fuller, entranced by the strange hieroglyphs written along the length of the weapon like a constellation in the night sky.  
He saw his reflection in the steel. A boy looked back at him, ten years old or younger, with big, cornflower blue-eyes in a curious little face. His skin was tan with a faint blush of sunburn on his cheeks and nose. He shook long, dirty, stringy hair away from his face and felt it tickle his back, the longest strands dusting the ground.

  
“Nyah-nyah-nyah!” He stuck out his tongue, a pink semicircle between dry lips, and blew a raspberry at himself, then burst into a fit of giggles. He made more faces for a while.  
He grinned and made his eyes pop wide open. He squinted until he could barely see his face scrunching up. He bobbed his head up and down to see himself warp and warble in the blade-like it was a funhouse mirror.  
A shadow fell across him and his laughter choked off in a gasp of terror. He scrambled in a circle, the sword scraping as it spun like a compass needle finding north, to face his foe. He growled like his cub would and hissed angrily. On the east railing of the squat circular tower, facing down into the courtyard, perched an avian profile with a russet plumage. The boy cried out in delight, fear forgotten.  
The falcon was back! He let his sword clatter to the ground and raced up to the railing, hands cupped out eagerly. Sometimes she brought worms. Sometimes she brought shiny things to play with. Most times, like then, he realized with a glum pout, she brought nothing. She bobbed her white-crested head and glanced at him with eyes gleaming like liquid gold.

  
The intelligence in them made him shuffle backward and fiddle with the teeth of his tunic shyly. He smiled bashfully and held out his arm.  
“Ah?” he gestured at it with his head, hoping it would alight on him. The white-crested falcon cawed once and took off into the sky with a gusty flap of her wings. “Hmph!” The boy stuck out his tongue, frustrated by the bird.  
He sighed dramatically and picked up his sword with one hand, dragging it behind him as he began his descent from the western watchtower. He tossed the sword down the winding stairwell, slapping his hands over his ears to keep the cacophony of metal 'dins' from hurting them. Then he took each step with a hop and little cry of ‘hup!’  
The sword was unharmed when he found it, as he knew it would be. It gleamed on the sandy stones of the courtyard, the noon sun like a white jewel on the shoulder. He snatched the hilt in his left hand and listened to its rattle and clank trailing behind him as he took a circuit around the courtyard.

  
He stopped first at the cistern, hidden under an awning stretched out from the main keep. He stood on his tiptoes, eeping over the edge of the wall and grimacing at the sight within. The water was getting very low, only a few inches. If rain didn’t come soon he wouldn’t have any water before long. Still, his throat was crackly and his lips were dry. He let his sword go and scrabbled in at the foot of the basin wall until he found a long length of cloth.  
It had been a flag, once upon a time, snapping proudly in the winds over the gatehouse, but one day it had ripped free and floated like a ghost to the courtyard. It was too thin for a blanket and the boy couldn’t, try as he might, figure out how to get it back onto its pole. He’d finally found a use for it one summer.  
He twisted it up and tossed one end over the basin wall to soak, shaking out more of his lanky long hair with a little grumble of annoyance. He tapped his foot impatiently and then whipped the old flag back.  
Whap! The wet end of the cloth smacked him in the face and he cried out indignantly, even though it did feel kind of nice against his skin. He pressed the wet end to his mouth and sucked moisture from it, smacking his lips at the texture of faded pink silk. As he wet his lips he stared wonderingly at the sun-bleached insignia of a soaring eagle weaved in bronze thread.  
He wished he could put it back above the gatehouse. He wanted to watch the eagle fly again. As he imagined it, his sharp ears picked up a soft, rhythmic beat of claws scratching on stone. He grinned, the flag caught between his teeth.

  
“Nnh!” He called out. The cub limped towards him, front fore-paw favored as it humped it’s small body across the baking stones of the courtyard. A little larger than a dog, the cub was covered in emerald green fur shot through with butterscotch stripes from face to the end of a swaying tail. Amber eyes stared hopefully sparkled as the cub opened its jaws.  
A fat black rat plopped on the ground between them. The boy spat out the flag and rung a palmful of water from it. He held out his hand and the cub pressed it’s broad, rough tongue onto the boy’s wet skin. He manfully tried to keep from pulling his hand back at the rough, tickling sensation. When the cub had its fill -he didn’t drink much thankfully- the boy pounced.  
For a moment, there was nothing else in the whole world. He buried his face in the cub soft belly, mimicking the happy little churrs his best friend made. Love given and received, the boy detached and retrieved their breakfast from the ground, snatching up his sword and beckoning the cub to limp after him.  
From the cistern, they traveled the familiar path through the second barbican, into the heart of the old keep. The gray castle’s insides seemed bigger than the squat circular fastness implied. It was dark and cool and lonely.

Especially dark. The boy’s foot caught on the edge of a shredded red rug and he fell forward.  
“Ah!” he cried out. He landed on his belly and the air was punched out him. His own voice bounced back at him from the arched ceilings and high, dour walls.  
“Wow,” he whispered, then looked over at his cub with a mad smile.  
“Ah!” he called. The empty halls replied a dozen times.  
“Aaaah!” he yelled, rising up and putting his best into it. His cub jumped and mrowled at all the noise. He snickered and took a deep breath before cupping his hands over his mouth.  
“Aa-“

 **Shhhh**! The boy’s yell was strangled by his shock and he looked around rapidly. His cub cocked its head curiously at him. The boy blinked rapidly until he realized what had happened. It had been in his own head.  
He scowled and stomped his foot. The Other One had shushed him.  
“Ah!” he yelled defiantly.  
 **Shhhhh**! It was loud and powerful in his ears and the boy pouted silently. It had been weeks since the Other One had spoken or done anything. And sometimes the boy forgot he was even there.  
His petulance turned to hope and he didn’t just stop yelling, but quieted his breathing and crouched low to the ground. If he was good and did as he was told maybe the Other One wouldn’t go away. Maybe he’d stay and keep the boy company.

  
He might’ve stood there for an hour, spirit dwindling, if the falcon hadn’t swooped in with a flap of her wings. She flew in through the barbican and banked down one of the side corridors. The boy sighed and walked after her, the cub trailing nervously behind him.  
The great hall was the same ruin it had been since the boy had first found it years ago. Tables and chairs lay shattered or, if whole, overturned from one end of the room to the other. Something had happened here once ago and nothing remained to tell it.  
Except for one figure. A statue of a man, dressed head to toe in plate armor. His right hand rose, holding a short-sword high, his left was flung out, fingers fanned as if to command all the world to halt before him. The falcon was perched on its left arm.  
The boy pouted. It didn’t make sense, he was better than some old statue. He could move! It was a nice statue and the details were breathtakingly life-life but it was just shiny gray rock. He whistled and held out his arm, even mimicking the statue’s pose.

  
The falcon never stayed put, staring into the chiseled eyes of the statue.  
“Pfah!” The boy sulked as he searched out a good chair. When he did, he wrestled the sword’s huge hilt onto one shoulder then put all his strength into hefting it up.. It flipped over his body and sliced the furniture in half, clean as a surgeon’s knife. Twice more he did this and gathered the wooden scraps.  
As he left, the cub peeled away from the shadows, where it liked to hide form the falcon, and bunted against his bare ankle lovingly. The boy smiled, feeling a little better.  
Outside, in the heard of the gray castle’s empty courtyard. The boy built a fire in the same spot he always did, marked by a ring of rocks and year's worth of soot-stains. He built the fire with some of the dry, wavy grass that pushed up between the flagstones.

  
The Other One taught him how to do this. To make a fire. But the Other One never said or showed him more than that. The eagle brought him trinkets or little meals but never stayed.  
His cub kept him company and ate the rat with him when he’d blackened it enough, as the Other One showed him, that he could force it down.  
Fed, the boy ventured back inside, down the main corridor and into a huge room centered by a hill of steps, leading to a stone chair bathed in sunlight. He ignored the throne and all the trappings of power, they meant nothing to him anyway, and went to the far wall. His cub curled up at his feet, snoozing off its full belly.  
The boy picked up a shard of rock and added to his story wall. The falcon. The rat. His cub. Stick figures took their place next to an endless train of the exact same scene. He paused and considered the blank space next to it.  
A sudden sadness welled up inside him and he felt like bursting into tears as he thought, not for the first time, that tomorrow and the day after and the day after he’d draw the same thing. Endlessly. He was filled with the fierce determination to grab his cub and the sword and scale the walls or knock down the old drawbridge. He’d leave! He’d find people! He’d go away from the gray castle and never, ever come back.  
 **No**. The Other One said. The boy grit his teeth and screamed.

  
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” His cub yowled and scurried off a few feet. The empty halls wailed his own voice back at him for a brief second. Then the silence returned as if it hadn’t been broken.  
He sat down, hugged his knees, and buried his face in his arms.

\---

Catra’s badge chirped and she pressed it hard with one black claw. She looked up from her folded arms, glaring into the serrated skyline of the Fright Zone.

  
“This better be good,” she snarled, “if you want me to hang out again-”  
“Come to the Black Garnet Chamber at once.”

The voice was arch, irrefutable, and condescending. It sent a wintery chill racing down her spine and made getting up to obey seem impossible.  
She glanced back over her shoulder at the darkening eastern wastelands. A short skiff ride to the Whispering Woods, she could lose herself in the trees if she really tried.  
 _Then what,_ she hissed at herself, _Bright-Moon? Adora? The Rebellion? Slink off and beg for help, Catra. It’s that or face Shadow Weaver._  
“All she could do is kill me, right?” She sighed to herself and somersaulted off the railing, deftly dropping herself from handle to handle. She felt the stale, stinking air rush by her ears and lift her hair with each fall. She never missed and never slipped, she could control her plummet with years of expertise.

  
She reached the base of Comm-Tower 3 in what must’ve been record time but, of course, there was no one around to witness that. It was amazing how empty the Horde’s stronghold could feel if you went to the right spots.  
Slowly, as she made her way to the South-Eastern Quadrant, the others began to appear. Faceless men and women behind green glass and thick black armor as they patrolled. That wasn’t so bad.  
A squad of troopers crossed her path, five shades of hair and skin still wet with the showers they’d finished. They chatted freely as they made their way to dinner. They hadn’t even noticed the Force Captain sulking by and she was almost happy about that.

  
She rounded a corner to cut through the tight corridor the smaller bots used to go around. Thin and red with lights that made snakes out of every exposed wire. She halted when she heard quiet snickering.  
“Stop,” a man’s voice breathed, excited, “come on, someone could come through here!”  
“Yeah,” another man purred, “let ‘em. I spend all day sweating it out down in the garage. The Horde can give me two minutes alone with you. Let ‘em. You’re so worth the disciplinary hearing.”  
Catra whirled away, beating a retreat as warmth rose in her cheeks. She toyed momentarily with busting them both, see if that mechanic talked smoothly then.

She might’ve if it wasn’t Shadow Weaver who was waiting on her.

She took the main hall, against her better wishes and was impeded one last time when a human child barreled into her legs. Some of the Cadets on training deployment nearby. She remembered being that small. She remembered the giddiness and excitement of two kids free of their squad for one day.  
“S-sorry!” the little girl squeaked, backing away, hazel eyes widening as she saw Catra’s badge. A satyr child tackled her from behind, laughing.  
“Caught the Rebel!” He looked up and sputtered.

They leapt up in unison and saluted fearfully.  
“Whatever,” Catra grumbled. She left them standing there and moved on to the familiar twists and hallways that still appeared as a backdrop in her some of her nightmares. The black doors of the chamber were unguarded. Few were those foolish enough to break into the Black Garnet Chamber.

  
The door swished open before she could knock and she resisted the urge to curl into herself. Shadow Weaver’s midnight-black hair writhed on an arcane wind. She was dragging the fingers of her right hand across the surface of the Black Garnet, her left held a book open.

  
“You will return to Plumeria,” she said without turning, “and you will retrieve your detachment from Rebel captivity,” Catra growled and hurried inside, eager to let the door shut in case anyone walked by. She didn’t need everyone hearing this.

  
“How many troops am I getting?” She’d show them. She’d flatten the Plumerian militia, cut down the Heart-Tree, and write ‘come get me, Adora,’ in big fiery letters across the forest canopy.  
“None,” Shadow Weaver said, “bring your soldiers back or do not bother reporting in.” The witch turned one eye to her. “And if I were you, Catra, I would take that advice seriously. Lord Hordak was quite displeased with your performance.”

  
“So he’s sending me back by myself!?” Catra wanted to shriek.  
“That was my suggestion,” Shadow Weaver turned back to the runestone, muttering something softly.

“Thanks, bunches,” she hissed.  
“You should,” the sorceress sighed, “the alternative was less pleasant. I have enough headaches without replacing a Force Captain again.”

“Adora really let you down, huh?” She wanted to drag the words back in the second they left her lips. Shadow Weaver’s nails screeched momentarily on the Black Garnet and Catra pressed her ears to her scalp. The sorceress was silent. Then she tittered.

  
Shadow Weaver actually laughed. Softly, almost pleasantly. She turned and her hand left the runestone to cover the front of her mask demurely. There was twisted fondness in her eyes as she took Catra in. Her emotions short-circuited when the woman floated towards her and tapped her nose gently.

“I know you want my attention, dear,” she said, “you want to play games, and make me upset, and have me all to yourself. It’s…endearing in a very pathetic sort of way. But, my sweet stupid girl, I simply do not have time. You need rest. And you need to think very hard about your mission tomorrow.”

  
“What-” a spindly gray finger pressed to her lips. Shadow Weaver tsked quietly.  
“Should I tell you about the movement of celestial bodies,” she said, mirth in her voice, “should I try to explain to you the oldest mysteries of magic? No. Those words would be wasted on you, wouldn't they? Let those of us with real power worry. But I shall give you this good news. I had a discussion with Lord Hordak today and…well.” She drifted away and turned triumphantly to a map of the lunar movements. “Perhaps, I shouldn’t say. If it makes you too anxious to get any rest-”

  
“Tell me!” Catra said, wincing at how childish she sounded.

  
“We will have Adora back,” Shadow Weaver sighed, “very, very soon. Goodbye, Catra, do be careful, and be sure to bring **all** our troops home this time.”

  
Catra’s heart leaped and she moved closer. A thousand questions bubbled to her lips but only a frightened shriek emerged as a red haze froze her in place and her muscles screamed in protest like a thousand wasps were stinging her at once. She was let go almost as quickly and fought the urge to crumple to the floor. The happiness hadn’t left Shadow Weaver’s eyes as she glanced at her.

“Goodbye,” she repeated, voice firm.  
Catra’s fear won out over her dignity and she fled. Not stopping until the door to her room slammed shut behind and left her, once again, alone.


	2. Fabulous Secret Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As plans are made to expand the rebellion, the Princesses experience some strangeness with their powers. Catra performs a daring rescue from enemy territory, only to reach a heartbreaking epiphany. Adam learns the value of respecting the Other One's rules.

_Rip._ "Did I do it wrong?"

Adora mumbled to herself, still groggy from waking up. She stared at her sock, or what was left of it, firmly ripped through and stretched around the middle of her right thigh. She removed the ruined sock and looked apologetically at its now bereft twin. Then, with greater care than normal, she tugged the other onto her left foot.

_Rip._

The Destined Savior of Etheria looked puzzled at the remains of her handywork. The pair were at least reunited now. She raced over to her dresser and drew out another pair. A few seconds later she was forced to draw out another…and another. With a huff she leaned forward to examine the rapidly dwindling pile in her dresser drawer. Maybe there were moths or something was wrong with the stitching? Her blonde hair fell in her face and she idly set about putting it into a ponytail. _Snap!_ Her hair-tie pin-wheeled away in a single, sad thread. She reached for her back-up and put that on as well. _Snap!_ "Stop it," she whined. She blew a strand of hair out of her face with a glum sigh and resigned herself to a day without a ponytail. She hated how her hair looked outside of a ponytail. So messy. Always in the way. She shut the sock-drawer harder than normal. **Much** harder than normal. An explosion of splinters burst down from behind the dresser and she danced backwards, aware of her naked feet.

"At least I wear my day clothes to bed," she mumbled to herself. She reached for her boots…her only pair of boots that couldn't be replaced without raiding the Fright Zone. With a groan, she wracked her brain for a solution. A moment later she emerged from her room, head down and face red. "Good morning," she mumbled at everyone she met, which seemed twice as many as usual, on her way to breakfast. She tried not to think of the way the fuzzy, pink slippers on her feet slapped the ground as she power-walked to the small audience chamber the Princesses used for less formal meals.

She sighed with relief to see the door swung wide open already. She didn't want to explain a broken, three-hundred year old oak-and-iron door to Queen Angella. Adora had made so much progress with the distant, imposing monarch in the last few weeks. She was finally feeling like she, maybe for the first time ever, belonged somewhere. _Ever?_ A part of her spoke, stopping her in the middle of the hall. _Really? The first time ever?_ She resisted the 'intrusive thought' -that was what Bow had told her they were called- as it tried to guilt her with sad, mis-matched eyes brimming with anger, and confused betrayal.

She was relieved when Glimmer poofed into view and then became very, very concerned. She had bags under her eyes that didn't quite match the manic, joyous grin in front of her. Glimmer's hair was almost blindingly sparkly this morning. "Glimmer?" She asked.

"Adora!" She hugged her and Adora felt a shimmering sensation as she heard the crackle of energy that usually accompanied Glimmer's teleporting powers. She suddenly found herself in a new room, planted in a seat, across a long wooden table from Princess Perfuma and Princess Mermista, who stared with appropriate levels of surprise, paused mid-conversation. Glimmer stood at her left elbow and then, for no apparent reason, teleported to her right side to speak.

"Just thought I'd get your seat for you," she chirped, taking Adora's glass and plate, "eggs, bacon, and an apple-tart? Hmm. All this stuff looks cold, let me get something fresh from the kitchen!" Before Adora could protest Glimmer blinked away, down several levels to the very heart of Bright-Moon. Adora considered the fine spread before her, all of it piping hot and a delight to the senses. She reached out for the empty place setting next to her, where Bow would normally sit, and paused with her hand hovering over the fine and most-likely-irreplaceable porcelain dishware. Perfuma gave her an embarrassed smile and Adora, momentarily, pressed her be-slippered feet under the chair beneath her.

"Glimmer," Perfuma said, "has been very…eager….to help today."

"Is she on something?" Mermista asked flatly. "Or off something? What's the deal?"

"She looks tired," Adora allowed, "but... otherwise-" Glimmer reappeared with a full plate and tall goblet of orange juice. She grinned at the empty seat.

"Bow is such a slowpoke," she laughed, "let me go get him!" She was vibrating with excitement one second, and in the next second she was gone. Adora focused on her food, picking up her fork and knife with the tips of her thumbs and forefingers. "So," she cleared her throat and pushed her hair back behind her ears with a pinky, "what were you guys talking about?" Mermista nodded at Perfuma as she drummed her fingers idly along a crystal carafe of pure spring water.

"Apparently she caught like a metric ton of Horde soldiers yesterday," Mermista shrugged, "she's been brainstorming what she's supposed to do with them all." The Plumerian Princess plucked an orange from the overflowing fruit-bowl and set about peeling it with her thumbs.

"The Plumerian Liberation Movement's first engagement was a rousing success," Perfuma said with a proud toss of her hair, "We found out Horde soldiers _can_ actually surrender. Did you know that, Adora?"

"Ooh," Adora grimaced, "hope that's... nobody I know. The Horde doesn't like people who submit to capture." Perfuma seemed suddenly contrite. "Well, if it's any consolation we caught them by surprise, outmaneuvered them, and hit them with an onion-based crowd control weapon our Research and Development Team came up with."

"Wait," Mermista sat up with a glare, "seriously, you have an R&D Team already? Ugh." She glanced at Adora. "I am totally making an effort to this Alliance, right now, but like its taking a while for everybody to come back to Salineas."

"It's...not a contest," Adora said, shooting a glare at the crumbly, delicious smelling apple tart that just refused to cooperate with her.

"Yeah but if it was I'd be losing," Mermista grumped.

"So, these prisoners," Adora cut in, eyelid twitching slightly as the strip of bacon on her fork crumbled away before she could eat it. She couldn't use her hands, that was what animals and babies did. She was She-Ra. "What have you learned from them?"

"Um," Perfuma said, looking to Mermista for help and getting a lazy 'i-dunno' gesture in response, "learned? Well. I mean, everyone has something to teach someone else. But they haven't been-"

"No," Adora gave up on her dignity and ate her bacon by hand, "I mean you questioned them, right? Interrogated them?"

"Interrogated," Perfuma continued to peel the orange in her hand, "that sounds aggressive." Mermista made a little noise.

"In these mystery novels I like that's usually what they do to solve a murder," she offered, "but like, we know who committed 'the attack' Adora, it was Hordak. Case closed." Adora looked between them, jaw slack with disbelief.

"You guys...don't interrogate your prisoners?" Perfuma winced, thumbs digging into the orange enough to spray citrus juice.  
"I **really** don't like the word every time you say it. It just feels like a _mean_ thing."

"By the by," Mermista cut in, "we didn't really have prisoners until recently. I mean, I don't have any. I don't even have subjects right now. So this is kinda new to us. Is this another big 'Horde thing?' What'd they teach about interrogation? It's like, you know, you just present the clues and the suspect admits they did it. Ususally _after_ you shine a light in their face. Obviously." Adora looked at Perfuma's open, hopeful face eager to learn what she had to teach.

"Uh," she said, "I don't remember. Nothing important. We can.. talk about it after breakfast."

"Okay, dibs on interrogating people," Mermista said, "I have the most experience with it. Nobody will say I didn't do my part for the Rebellion. Honestly, send me everybody. I'll 'interrogate' them 'till they beg me to stop."

"Yeah, I'm sure they will," Adora mumbled. Suddenly unable to think about anything but explaining thumbscrews to Princess Perfuma. The Princess in question smiled at her colleague.

"And I am sure you will be an excellent interrogator, Mermista, you have a persuasive aura about you." Adora absentmindedly stabbed at her eggs, distracted by the conversation to come. A porcelain crack made her blood run cold.

"No," she whispered. The four silver prongs of her fork hadn't cracked the plate, thankfully, but they had pierced it firmly through to the very hilt. She pulled sharply on it. The tables jumped and everything on it rattled dangerously. The crystal carafe tipped, landing by a small miracle on the far side of Princess Mermista, to soak the unoccupied corner of the table. Perfuma leapt up from her seat, staring around dumbly, still peeling the orange absent-mindedly.

"Nooooooo," Adora hissed, "pleeeeeease no." Energy crackled next to her.

"Mmmph!" Bow's brown eyes went wide as he glanced in every direction, a small cup of water in a one hand and a toothbrush shoved between his lips. He was still in his baby-blue pajamas. The ones with the red hearts all over them and Adora envied his unshakable confidence as he turned a glare on his best friend.

"Oh, you were done," Glimmer said, patting him on the back, "I'll go get my mom!" Bow rolled his eyes and turned to the three Princesses around him, stopping short at once and pointing across the table.

"Prrrfma!" Bow tried to say, white foam bubbling past his lips like the world's least-threatening rabid dog. Adora followed his finger and gasped, forgetting all about her own predicament. The orange Perfuma had been peeling had unspooled to an impressive six feet of long, brightly-colored rind. As they watched, the section she'd already peeled was slowly growing into place.

"Oh, my goodness!" Perfuma gasped, sounding more embarrassed than shocked. She glanced at the table's other occupants and smiled nervously. "I...meant to do that! Ha-ha. What a funny joke I am totally in control of."

"Perfuma, are you having trouble controlling your powers? Does that happen alot? Does it go away?" Adora could've jumped for joy. Perfuma flushed red and Mermista shot Adora a withering look. "Dude," she said, "we don't **ask** other Princesses if they 'can't control their powers', Adora. That's super demeaning and personal. Like, how awkward would it be if I asked **you** what was up with your She-Ra magic acting weird?"

"I," Perfuma snapped, rapidly trying to peel the orange as if it would refute all accusations, "am in perfect control of my powers! Thank you very much! I have been in control of them since I was eleven and-oh, you stupid orange! Deep cleansing breaths, Perfuma, this is a test sent by the Universe."

"Look, just throw it away, Perfuma," Mermista sighed, "we all get caught off guard sometimes." The Princess of the Sea reclined in her chair and the room froze at a loud squelching noise. Mermista's eyes widened and a faint blush colored her cheeks. She glanced down and then shot an uncomprehending glare at the upended crystal carafe. Adora looked over and then followed, jaw falling open, the long stain of water in the table cloth. The wide, wet, mark of water snaked impossibly to the side and to the edge of Mermista's place at the table. Adora ducked her head down curiously, aware that all that water had begun to patter loudly onto the floor by Mermista's feet. "D-don't!" Mermista jumped up reflexively, voice hitting a rare high-pitch.

"The carafe! The water!" Perfuma gasped. Adora winced and covered a reflexive giggle at the dark stain on Mermista's sea-green trousers. Mermista flushed red as a lobster and grabbed a long, dry, napkin to dab at the water-stain. "How did that even-"

"Mmmmmph!" Bow finger had stopped pointing at Perfuma and was not trembling at the empty glass in his other hand. They all turned to look as the water he'd had floated ghost-like through the rays of light spilling in from the room's high windows.

"No," Mermista growled, glaring, "no! Go away! Stop!" She held out one hand and it flexed with effort. "You're not even sea-water, stay back!" She jumped backwards, whipping at the slow-moving projectile with the napkin.

"Uh, try relaxing," Perfuma said, "that might-ack!"

"Prrrfmmma! Agnn!" Bow was pointing at the healthy sprig of an orange tree that had just tapped Perfuma in the back of her blonde hair. It was already putting forth ripening fruits. The boy glared cross-eyed at the toothbrush in his mouth then grabbed Adora's goblet off the table and took a huge swig to rinse out his mouth. "Ahh," he cried out, sputtering toothpaste down his front and dancing on his bare toes, "that was orange juice!"

'I should help!' Adora thought but as she stood she considered the fork standing resolutely from the plate and the table under it. But they're distracted. She used the lightest grip of one hand, wiggling the silverware from side to side slowly. Bow, Perfuma, and Mermista continued to raise a din over her efforts and she grinned triumphantly as she felt the fork slipping free. Energy popped in the air behind her seat.

"Glimmer," Queen Angella's yell cut the air, "you know I hate it when you teleport people when they've haven't asked for-" An avalanche of breaking plates, shattering glasses, and clattering silverware drowned out the rest of what she said. It all ended with the heavy, coffin-like thud of the table flipping upside-down. Everyone leapt back to safety. The water smacked Mermista in her face. The orange tree tumbled from Perfuma's grip and sent its yield spiraling off into the far corners of the room. Bow sprang into the first pair of free arms to save his feet from broken glass.

"Sorry, your Majesty!" He squealed. Adora held the fork up to her face with a faint hope and found that one of its tines was, every so slightly, bent out of shape. She sat back in her chair, defeated. A bevy of white-cloaked soldiers materialized in the room. At the fore was a snake-clan woman with a head like a viper and lime-green scales. Yellow eyes took in the scene and landed on Queen Angella with a flicker of resignation. "Your, Mmmm-Majesty?" The woman asked. She had a stutter that no one seemed to acknowledge.

"Is all, w-well?"

"Yes, Captain," Angella sighed and addressed the young heroes of Etheria, "is everyone, alright?"

"This is water!" Mermista shouted suddenly before lowering her voice in mortification. "On my pants I mean its…I didn't…its just water, ok? Ugh! I'm gonna go change." She stormed out, a living stream of water slithering after her like a loyal pet. The Captain nodded to an older Salineas man with dark skin and long sandy hair.

"Mern," the captain barked without stuttering once, "take New-Girl and keep an eye on Princess Mermista." Mern saluted and so did a small, round human woman with freckles and green eyes.

"Would you l-l-like an escort, P-princess Perfuma?"

"Yes," Perfuma muttered, "but…I keep plants in my room and I…I swear, Queen Angella, my mother trained me to control my powers."

"Breathe," Queen Angella said. Perfuma nodded rapidly. The Captain turned to two more of her troops. Adora recognized them from her less than stellar entrance to Bright-Moon. "Ksana," she addressed a huge, red-skinned and two-horned Tauranian woman, "you and Lysander are responsible for Princess Perfuma's comfort and well-being." "We are honored," Lysander said. He was a three-eyed man with a thin voice, sporting a hood on the usual white cloak of the Bright-Moon guard. "Yeah, we got you," Ksana said, "there's no plants down by the barracks."

"Adora, you'll have to tell me all about how the Horde interrogates prisoners later. I'm so sorry about this," Perfuma said with a little bow. Adora became very aware of how many of the veteran soldiers in the room turned their eyes on her at that.

"Sh-sh-She-Ra?" The Captain asked, "W-would you like an escort as w-well?"

"No, she can't," Glimmer suddenly teleported to Adora's side, a distance of less than five feet, "she has to help me convince my mom to let us go to Dryl!" Glimmer's eye twitched and she squinted. "Oh, right! Mom, can we go to Dryl? Bow says Princess Entrapta would love to the join the Alliance!" Angella glanced at the boy in her arms.

"Well," he said, smiling nervously, "when she posts on the Maker Forums, she's always really nice and she believes in free software and open source code. So I just figured, you know, she'd probably be all about rebellion and freedom." Queen Angella stared at the far wall for a moment. "I didn't understand all of that, but do you mean to say she has agreed to form a military-alliance with Bright-Moon for the aim of defeating the Evil Horde?"

"Yes!" Glimmer shouted, teleporting to three separate levels of the room and back to her mother. "That's exactly right, so let's get going!" The Queen looked at Bow who was valiantly trying not to lie. "She… well... not…exactly?"

"Ok, fine, then we've got to convince her! Let's go-go-go come one we could be at the Fright Zone with an army by now!" Glimmer grabbed Adora and teleported her back to her room before anyone could stop her. "Shoes and socks! Shoes and socks! Come on not complex. Wow, your sock drawer is toast!"

"Glimm-" a fresh pair of socks hit her in the face, "I can't-" she was shoved to sit on her bed. Her slippers were gone and replaced with wool socks and her boots in a flash of pink light. Her hair drew back behind her head into a neat tie, complete with a pompadour. Adora materialized back in the solar, flushing at having to be babied at warp speed. "Your turn," Glimmer grabbed Bow's shirt sleeve. A slender gloved hand snatched her wrist in response.

"Glimmer," Queen Angella's voice so stern Adora snapped to attention on reflex, "teleport one more person without asking, young lady, and I will ground you until the winter stalemate begins!" Glimmer blinked and, to Adora's horror, rolled her eyes. This had to be it. Queen Angella was no Shadow Weaver but she had to have limits. "Mom," she groaned, "I finally grew into my powers! Finally! I've teleported ninety times since I got up and I don't feel any kind of energy drain. No recharges, no need to pace myself. I can finally do something useful so…c'mon!" "Glimmer," Angella voice softened, "please?" The Princess frowned under her mother's pleading look before huffing in defeat. "Thank you. Now, ninety times? Surely that's an exaggeration."

"I've been awake since 3AM," Glimmer waved her hand dismissively, "but that's not the point. The point is-"

"Adora," Angella said, "please take Bow from me." Adora saluted sharply and obeyed. Bow weighed less than nothing with her newfound strength. She winced at the way Queen Angella drew herself up and looked down at her daughter. "Glimmer, you have done very little this morning to convince me that I should send you anywhere but straight back to bed."

"Mom!" Angella pressed a finger to her lips and raised her free hand into the air. Glimmer turned an incandescent shade of red. She crossed her arms and glared up into her mother's face. "Wow," Bow whispered, his breath minty fresh, "haven't seen that move since we were like seven. Queen Angella will hold out longer too. Watch." The Queen was unflinching until Glimmer, after a long minute of muttering and pouting, mimicked her.

"Thank you," Queen Angella said, "now, Commander, if you can hold your peace for a moment, let me explain why I'm letting you go."

"I am not a little kid any...would you mind repeating that, mom?"

"You can go," Angella said, arching one eyebrow, "because I'm significantly impressed with your ability to gather allies to our cause. I'm proud of you, dear." Glimmer flushed again, whining in embarrassment. Angella smiled fondly and cupped her face. "Go. Bring Dryl under the protection of the Great Rebellion and take us one step closer to the end of this pestilential war. And please, for my sake, be careful. And get eight hours of sleep." Glimmer teleported up and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're the best!"

"Why do I only hear this when I'm sending you into danger?" Glimmer turned to Bow and Adora with hands extended, then paused under her mother's scrutiny. "Adora," she smiled sheepishly, "why don't you run Bow back up to his room? I'll meet you guys at the gate when you're ready." Adora nodded and hustled out. Her magic extended to her stamina and she wasn't winded when she shouldered Bow's door open and right off its hinges.

"You could've put me down on the way here," Bow said with a gasp.

"Yeah," Adora sighed, "I was just thinking that."

* * *

"Rrrrg!" The boy grunted, shouldering the old, weighted door backward an inch with a little charge down the hallway. The rusty hinges whined in protest, arresting the door with only a few extra inches of space.

A sigh of air blew dust straight into his grinning face and he coughed until his eyes watered. He sputtered and shook out his long hair as he groped in the dark. His fingers quested until they touched a metal lever.

He pulled it and cried out with delight when dim, flickering light danced through the room to bounce off the curves of metal contraptions laid out in nearly every open space. Pictures and blueprints, crumbling to dust with age, appeared along the walls. All of it was a puzzle the boy had given up trying to decipher long ago.

Most of all he marveled at the light as it crept up the far wall and dazzled inside of pink gem the size his head, set high above an empty metal doorframe. Sometimes, the boy simply liked to look at it and wonder how it would shine outside in the full sunlight. Maybe if he tried to, the Other One could pry it loose. The Other One was very strong.

 **No.** The boy snarled at the voice inside his head. The Other One never let him have any fun. He'd scolded him for climbing the walls earlier and the boy was too bored to sit in the courtyard all day, watching thin clouds cross the sky.

"Hmph!" The boy stormed from the room, wrenching the lever to shut down all the lights along his way. He whistled sharply at his cub, who was too scared to follow him into the Jewel Room, and started for the stairs down into the main keep.

 **No.** The Other One spoke up, reading his intentions before he'd made it five feet. The boy paused a second and then blew a raspberry, long and disrespectfully.

 **No!** The Other One repeated himself, louder each time, as the boy made his way to the gatehouse and looked over the drawbridge. It was huge and made of ancient ironwood that never seemed old or unvarnished, even after all the years of weather that the boy knew it had seen. Great black chains, each link as big as the boy, stretched taught from where they looped around an enormous winch to the pulley's inside the gray-stone walls.

The boy had never seen those chains shift a centimeter, even in the strongest of the badlands' winds.

"Hup!" He leapt up and clung to them, wincing a little at the feel of the heat baked into the black metal from the desert sun.

**NO.**

"Ahh!" The boy yelped, almost losing his balance and feeling a pit in his tummy. He was being _bad._ Really bad. The Other One might…the boy hung there for a moment and wondered what, exactly, the Other One could do to him.

"Ha!" he cried and scurried up the chain, deft as a monkey. His cub caterwauled unhappily from the ground. The Other One was disturbingly silent now. But so what? What could he do?

He scaled to the highest link and found himself faced with a few loose stones as convenient handholds. His arms and legs, strong from climbing around the old gray castle, took him to the very top of the gatehouse and gave him a view that took his breath away.

Out across the southern shelf of the badlands, past a natural rock formation that served once as a stairway up to the castle, there was nothing but bleak devastation.

Skeletons. Bones bleached to a high-ivory by the sun, made a sharp contrast to armor rusted black amongst them. The warped, reaching rock formations that framed the castle moat stretched on forever, writhing in the heat glare of the distance as if they were living.

Perhaps this was why the Other One had warned him away from climbing up here. This view only showed him fields of death. A blasted wasteland of carnage that had played out its' sad tragedy long ago.

The ten-year-old grinned and looked around for more to see. Starting with the gatehouse beneath him.

He'd been inside the skull-shaped gatehouse before, and been disappointed to find the main room, which looked out onto the southern wedge of the badlands, such a wreck of rubble that he couldn't even open the door to it. From above, he could finally see why.

The skull had been caved in, as if by a giant's mace. He sat on the very edge of its shattered dome, feet dangling over a drop of fifteen feet onto jagged rubble.

Below that was a fall even longer. The boy had caught glimpses of the moat from the east and west watchtower or peeking through the castle's crenellations and murder holes. Now, he could see straight down into utter darkness. The sun, strong and high in the sky could barely light the depths of the moat twenty feet below.

For a horrible moment he felt vertigo yank him forward. There was nothing down there save for jagged cliffs with almost no purchase. The widest wasn't more than two feet out from the sheer edge of the moat. No chance to climb back up, even if you survived the fall.

A wind rose from the east, tugging his hair over his right shoulder like a dirty flag.

Movement to his left nearly sent him tumbling back over the wall in shock. At first he thought it was his hair's shadow playing across the low sunlight, but it was too long and close to be a shadow.

A cloud passed the sun and that which stalked him was lost from his sight, disappearing into darkness.

 **Back.** The Other One's voice sent a chill down his spine. The Other One sounded scared. The Other One _never_ got _s_ cared. Not even when the giant eight-legged crawlers came last summer. Not even when the fire-breather, huge and scaly, had perched itself on the castle wall two winters ago.

The boy should listen. He should turn back. He almost did before the shadow left the sun and the flapping cloth was bathed, briefly, in unrestricted light. It was a dim glimpse, as if the sunlight was loath to touch it, but he saw it.

Then he laughed out loud. A skull. That was it. That was what the Other One was afraid of. He giggled, kicking his bare feet in mirth. For goodness, sake, they lived in a castle that _was a giant skull._ Or was carved like one, anyway. He grinned back at the skull, sitting on the lip of an endless plummet. It was nothing but a white mask swathed in purple cloth stained almost ebony. It wasn't even facing up at him, it was turned to the right, unmoving in the wind.

"Boo!" he shouted at the skull and laughed aloud.

From the badlands, something laughed back like a hyena. A black shape broke away from the motionless horizon and began loping forward. The boy somersaulted backwards in shock and caught himself on the second link before he fell straight to the courtyard stones. The cub whined and roared loudly.

"Shhh!" He called down. "Shhhhh!" He shook his head, dizziness weakening his grip.

 **Down! Back! Get down from the gate! Hide!** The boy scrambled, quick but careful down to the stones. Over the walls, the sound of howling and laughing grew louder on the wind. His little heart hammered in his chest and he raced inside, stopping only to gather the cub in his arms. His sword was still by the Jewel Room. He ran inside, the cub followed without its previous fear. When they were inside the boy rushed the door and slammed it shut with a throw of his whole body. He gathered the cub to him in the dark, crouched low, and tried to quiet his own rapid breathing and tell himself he was imagining the barks coming closer to the castle.

It couldn't get over the walls. Even if it could, the Other One would fight it. There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing.

The boy hiccupped once and rubbed at his face. He was safe, he only had to wait and it would be over like a bad dream. Wait. That was all. Wait.

* * *

Waiting. Catra hated the waiting. A third butterfly tried to land on one of her ears and she flicked it off with the tip of a claw. Her nose twitched at the heavy perfume of Plumeria. Heady and soporific. Her butt was going to sleep on the tree branch she perched on.

Catra hated everything around her. The waiting included.

She was almost relieved to see Scorpia trundle back through the thick forest, much as she hated to admit that even to herself. The self-appointed 'best friend' had come along with her to Plumeria, of course, because that was simply Catra's kind of bad luck. By a miracle, and her own careful wiles, Catra had lead them both past the spot they'd been ambushed the day before and they quickly found tracks.

Plumerians might be fighting but they weren't thinking like guerillas yet, and that suited Catra fine. Scorpia held up a Horde Trooper helmet, upside and filled with fresh soil, a single bloom, recently potted, standing daintily up from it.

"Flower-pots?" she groaned. That was the equipment lost. She'd never heard the end of that from Shadow Weaver. Scorpia was nodding back the way she came.

"Yeah," she whispered, "you should see what they did with the gauntlets. I think they're bird feeders now."

"So long as our troops aren't feeding the birds too," Catra slid down from the branch, taking the lead once more. After all, if Scorpia insisted on tagging along for no reason, she could rest once in a while even if it meant ruminating on Shadow Weaver's words.

 _We will have Adora back very, very soon. And how do I feel about that?_ She decided it was a mixed bag of feelings. Angry, that was the most prominent one but at the witch or her former-best friend more, she wasn't sure.

 _If_ it meant Adora came back, apologized enough times, and things went back to normal then maybe… _maybe_ Catra would be happy. No more looking over her shoulder constantly if she had someone watching her back again. And it'd be awfully nice to see high and mighty She-Ra admit she was wrong.

"Two apologies," she muttered to herself, "one for leaving while I was covering you and one for not coming back. Then four more, one for each time she could've come back and an extra one because I'm worth it." She grinned. "She has to beat up her two stupid 'friends' when she sees them next. That'd be part of it. And let me film it."

"Catra," Scorpia whispered.

"What? I'm thinking, Scorpia," she snapped.

"We're here." Catra winced at how out of it she'd been. She pressed herself flat to the ground, eyes dilating as she spied her missing troops at long last. Her teeth clenched in fury as she took in the state of them.

"They're ok," Scorpia blew a breath like a steam engine, "oh, man. They're ok."

"They're just sitting there," Catra growled. Forty-four Horde troopers, stripped to their white-and-grays, lounged in the shade of a broad old oak tree. Sipping from their canteens with one hand and rummaging around in bowls overflowing with fresh fruits and vegetables in the other. Catra made a mental note of one ginger-haired trooper who had the audacity to rest, arms behind her head, staring up at the passing clouds.

"Diabolical," Scorpia hissed, "they're torturing them! Letting them see freedom but keeping them all too scared to move! Not anymore. The Best Friend Duo is coming to rescue you, guys!" She lunged forward. Catra's claws left little marks on her Scorpia's tail as she it grabbed it below the stinger. "Yikes! Catra! That's a personal area!"

"Shut it and get down," her eyes had picked out two dozen Plumerians, almost blending perfectly into the mulit-colored foliage. They seemed no more alert or aggressive than a party of picnickers. She saw one of her soldiers actually wave at their 'jailors'. Shadow Weaver had sent her out here to die and this is what she was 'rescuing'. "They're gonna wish the Plumerians had been the take-no-prisoners type!"

"Catra, they got captured," Scorpia said looking over the soldiers with watery-eyes, "who knows what they've been through." Her face turned green. "All that fresh fruit they got access too could be poisoned. Maybe its not and maybe they're just...oh, guh, making them eat so much they can't run. Those...this is war but there are limits!" She burped. "Oh,I'm gonna yartz!"

"Scopria," Catra hissed, scrambling away as far as their cover allowed, "barf on me I'll knock you out and do this mission alone! I'm not joking!"

"We gotta take the fight to 'em, now! While my adrenaline is up!" Scopria burst free of the underbrush and charged the crowd. "The Horde is here!" Hordesmen could be stupid, cowardly, and narrow-minded, Catra thought, but they also trained rigorously. As if it had been planned that way, over half the company answered the call. Twos and threes of Hordesmen rushed the Plumerians nearest to them and tried to drown them in sheer numbers.

A dark-skinned man, thin and surprisingly sprightly for his age, cupped his hands over his mouth and gave three sharp bird calls.

"Scorpia!" Catra hissed from her spot in the bushes. Behind her, she heard the answering cries of a dozen alerted sentries. She let three pass by and sprang up on the fourth. In total she surprised six of her enemies, half the reinforcements, one after the other, as they rushed in to aid their friends. As her feet slammed one sturdy man into the ground she caught sight of an onion bulb in his hand. She hissed and knocked it away.

"You're so lucky I don't have more time to spend with you, or I would make you eat that," she said, knocking him cold with the heel of her hand. She turned and ran on all fours, lithe as a tigress, into the chaos under the oak tree.

Scorpia was annoying but she was also a six-foot plus wall of muscle and exoskeleton. Anyone who wasn't laid flat by her claws found themselves envying those who had. Her stinger paralyzed four healthy warriors in as many minutes. There was utter pandemonium whirling around her as Catra arrived. She tackled a girl watching the old man's back, then grinned into her face.

"Very pretty," she purred, tracing a pointed claw over the white face markings on the girl's cheek, "mind if I add a few shapes?" A barefoot slammed into her forehead, sole first, and sent her sprawling backwards. The old man grimaced and shifted his ankle once. Catra adjusted her skewed mask with a fresh snarl.

"A square!" She heard Lonnie screaming. "Come on, maggots, make a square! You know what shape a square is?" The insults worked and soon the unarmored Horde troops had evicted their foes out of a small patch of grass. They stood in close lines of five, two rows deep, in the perfect shape of a square. The old man took one look around, finding himself and his daughter trapped, and whistled a three-tone sharply.

"Yarrow," a Plumerian outside the square yelled, "what about you?"

"Just go," Yarrow cried and Catra realized she'd heard his voice before. The Horde troopers stomped in sequence, cheering out for the Fright Zone and Lord Hordak as the Plumerian militia melted back into the forest. Attention turned slowly towards the two remaining Plumerians.

"Dad?" the girl said. Catra drank in the look of dawning horror on her face like a fine wine.

"It's alright, Butterfly," he said calmly, "we'll be alright."

"Not really," Catra said, rising and stretching languidly, "I mean. After all. You're Hordak's victims again aren't you?" The man's eyes widened. "There it is. See, maybe I'd have not bothered with you, old man, but I can't exactly let that go now can I?" She tapped a claw to her chin, nearly purring at the fear on Butterfly's face. "You guys like plants, right? How do you feel about dark, concrete cells with no windows?"

"Please," Yarrow said, "do whatever you please with me. Only spare her." Catra groaned and pulled at her hair.

"Ugh, you Rebels are all so stupid. Its almost no fun," she shook her head, "why would you tell me that? I know what to use against you now! Honestly, you'd think it would be obvious at this point. Lie! Offer her up and save yourself... I am so sick of the same stupid, pointless-"

"It is my truth," the man cut in, "and I will not compromise it. Please, let her go." Catra narrowed her eyes at the old man and stepped up to him. She tapped one claw on his thin chest, over his heart, and searched his creased, weathered face. She pressed lightly, blood beading around her nail to streak down the man's abdomen. He refused to flinch.

"This isn't the first time you fought the Horde, huh?" She smirked. "We got a genuine, original Rebel here, you guys!"

"I stood with King Micah," the man nodded, "I hid for fifteen years after he fell."

"What made you get dumb all over again?" Catra grinned.

"She-Ra showed us the way," Butterfly said, stepping up next to her father. Catra's mouth twitched into a frown for the barest second.

"She-Ra," Catra said, "She-Ra, She-Ra, She-Ra. How would you feel if I told you She-Ra sucked her thumb til she was seven? Would you feel so confident then?" A chuckle ran through her detachment and her tail lashed angrily. Half of the idiots had run screaming from She-Ra at Thaymor and still would've if she'd been sucking her thumb then and there.

"You don't have to do this," Butterfly said, "please, we treated your soldiers as best we could."

"Oh, you don't want to remind me of that!" She cast a withering glare around her. As she did the Plumerians embraced, for what they surely believed was the last time. "Pathetic."

"Dad," Butterfly said.

"You'll be alright," the old man urged, "take care of your mother."

"Excuse me," Catra snapped, "who says either of you is going anywhere? Maybe you'll both come with us. The Fright Zone's big. It needs workers. You could spend the rest of your lives there and never see each other again."

"And if you know your way," the old man said, eyes blazing suddenly, "if you've been there before?" Catra's mouth worked wordlessly. The surrounding troopers rustled as they heard that.

"Traitor!" Scorpia shouted suddenly. "Your one of us?"

"I was, sadly, until I almost died near here twenty-eight years ago and was left to the mercies of the woods," Yarrow strode forward, extending his wrists to Catra, "so, Force Captain, you must of course know what happens to Horde Troopers caught deserting."

"Beast Island," Scorpia hissed at her helpfully, "we covered that in Orientation."

"My daughter is not part of this," Yarrow whispered to her, "bring back one traitor and that is worth ten Rebels. Please. You know what it's like there."

There was fear in the old man's eyes but he seemed almost peaceful. Maybe even relieved.

"You'll die," she found herself saying, "you'll never see her again."

"I have her memory," Yarrow said, "and, to be honest, I want to face him. The Lord of The Fright Zone. I want a chance to look him in the eye and tell him I survived. And fought back." He trembled with fury. Catra understood. The man had a life now. A family. Everything that the Horde would never have given him. He wasn't wasting away on nutrient bars or serving as Hordak's meat shield anymore, and he never would again. She could strip this new life of his away with a wave of her hand. No one but an idiot would be furious about it.

He must have known that too.

It was then that Catra knew that Adora would never come back. Whether it was the fruit or her friends or these stupid flowers, she finally had something better than the Horde, so why should she? Her stomach twisted itself into knots and all she wanted for that brief second was for Adora to come home.

"Didn't I say don't tell me what you want? Idiot. Go," she said, jabbing her head towards the forest, "I'll be back for your kingdom someday, old-timer, and I'll deal with you then." The Plumerians blinked stupidly at her and then glanced at each other. "Have you got plants in your ears? Get lost!"

The old man's face went slack and uncomprehending. Suddenly he bowed at the waist.

"Bless you," he breathed, emotional, "the Universe will bless you for such an act of mercy. Thank you, Force Captain. You show rare honor." Catra snarled at them.

"I'll show you the dirt up close if you don't get lost!" His eyes bulged in fear and his daughter grabbed him by the wrist to rush him away. The Hordesmen parted silently and let them go. When they vanished into the forest, Catra rubbed at her face in exhaustion.

"Hey," she turned to find Lonnie speaking, "didn't expect you to come back for us." The detachment clicked their heels together as one and saluted. Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle joined in looking proud. Catra glared at them all.

How many had tormented her in their childhood, she wondered. Any of them might've pulled her tail or hurled insults. Any of them might be the one who stomped on her barefoot, on purpose, during sparring. Now, they wanted to be her friends. Now they wanted to be _proud_ of her. Adora would've winked and nudged her shoulder and told her 'I knew you could do it' all along.

She never would now. Because she was never coming home. Home for her was somewhere else.

"Anybody who pocketed food from the Plumerians, drop it now. You're not bringing that back to the Fright Zone," she glared around as confusion rippled through the ranks and roared, "Right now!" Apples, oranges, and tomatoes thudded to the forest floor. "You're disgusting. All of you. Gorging yourselves in the shade and not bothering to fight back."

"We should've run like you?" Everyone turned to Lonnie. She had her arms crossed and was trying to shoot Catra with the same glare she'd bullied her with when they were kids.

"Or died fighting," Catra shrugged with a mean smile that turned darker as she continued, "I didn't save your lives just now. I'll do that later when I don't tell Shadow Weaver you all submitted meekly to capture and laid around _waiting for me_." No one liked that, but no one argued about it either. Catra shoved her way out of the square. "I know you all think I'm pretty mean but, hey, at least you can keep the water they gave you."

"Catra?" Scorpia asked as she stomped by.

"Move 'em out," she growled, "I'm not leading these losers anywhere right now." She broke through the tree-line, alone, and slumped to her knees amidst a circle of lilies. They were tall, golden flowers thrusting up towards the sky like a battalion of swordsmen saluting her as she passed. Her chest heaved and her eyes watered but she didn't cry. She refused to cry.

"She's never coming back," she said, voice thick, "she's never gonna come back. Adora's never coming back." Shadow Weaver was fooling herself and Catra, for the briefest bitterest moment, had fooled herself as well.

"She's never coming back," she snarled, she turned her claws on the lilies, ruining in an instant what the forest had spent years cultivating, "she's never coming back!"

That was the moment she resolved to hate Adora for the rest of her life.

* * *

The boy's stomach was imploding with unsatisfied hunger.

His breathing was shallow as he tried to listen past castle walls for any sound of the badland monster. He couldn't bear to wait until morning and would chance a quick look out into the courtyard. He needed to get something to drink at least, or he'd pass out.

The cub churred with uncertainty as he rose and wrenched the Gem Room door open enough to squeeze himself out. Night had fallen in the hours he'd been hiding and the old gray castle was dark as the inside of a sealed coffin. The cub led him, cringing with every limping step. Behind him, the sword's broad tip scraped along the floor.

"Shhhh," he soothed, reaching out to stroke the arching back of his best friend, "shhh." They wound through the darkness until the main gate of the keep defined itself in bright moonlight. The boy stepped out into the courtyard, meeting blessed, safe silence and stared up. He smiled when he saw the stars.

A gentle smile softened his face. The stars were alive and numerous in a way that made him feel not quite so alone. Definitely radiant. Every color of the rainbow was sewn into the firmament like jewels into sable silk. He loved the stars. He knew that, whatever horrors lurked outside the walls or in the shadows around him, the stars were the one thing he never had to fear.

They would always be there and would not abandon him.

"Help me."

He bit his cheek to keep from screaming in terror. A voice. A person's voice. He'd never heard another person's voice before. Only the Other One.

"Help me!" It was strained and raspy. Whispering on the empty air that blew up over the gatehouse. He didn't know what it was saying.

"Help me, please!"

 **Inside. NOW.** The Other One was almost whispering with fear in the boy's head. Those words echoed loud within his mind, but the boy refused to move. He couldn't.

Another person. After all these years alone. He had to see. He had to know. Maybe the thing from the badlands was gone.

"Help me!"

 **You must listen.** The Other One said as the boy dropped the sword to the ground and crept towards the giant black chains of the main gate. **You must not look. This is a trick.**

"Shhh," the boy said. He had to know. He couldn't resist this even if he wanted to.

 **Wait.** The boy paused and then nodded at the thought the Other One sent his way. He plucked a loose triangle of rock from the ground to serve as a last-ditch weapon, stowing it in the ragtag pocket of his tunic before he pulled his hood up to cover his face from prying eyes. He would peer over the lip of the roof and move carefully.

 **Careful.** He crawled up the chain, shivering in the slight breeze. As he ascended he was made to look at the stars again. It would be nice, he thought, to have someone to look at them with. He froze as some of the roof slates nearby shifted and fell in the wind.

"Help me!" He pressed on.

He crested the gatehouse and crawled flat on his belly to the edge of the broken skull. He paused a moment at the very border of it. This was it. When he looked over this spot he would no longer be alone. He peeped, cornflower-blue eyes searching the dark from the shadows of his hood. Nothing on the stairwell. Nothing along the far edges of the moat on either side. The bones and armor sat undisturbed where they had been earlier.

Nothing. The boy wondered if he had not imagined it.

"Help me!" It was coming from the moat. It was like an icy hand had reached into him and clenched his heart. He turned east and looked down.

**You must get down now.**

"Help me."

 **Please.** The Other One was barely audible. The boy looked, he had to, and saw the skull where it had laid hours ago. It was spookier at night. The violet cloth was deep, swirling black were it hung limp without the wind. The bone had turned a sickly green with the moonlight. He felt like the eyes sockets were looking at him from down there, both staring right into his soul.

 **It was not facing us earlier.** The boy nodded dumbly. He knew that. That was why he suddenly couldn't move for the pure, animal terror running through him.

"Help me," the voice was clear, tinged with mad glee as it spoke, "oh, won't you help me?" The jawbone moved but the cloth unfurling beneath it did not stir with the wind. "Dear boy, won't you come down and help me?" All a skull could do was grin, but this one seemed to do so with malign intent.

Skulls did not talk. Skull were dead. Dead things could not talk.

"Child," the skull called out, a strange, metallic twang in its voice as it crooned, "you must come down and help me. It's too late to go back."

Weight shifted behind him and something scrabbled for purchase on the stones. Hot, stinking breath breathed on him.

"There is nowhere to go but down, now," the skull grew louder, more mocking, "now be a good boy and come help me!"

**Move slowly. Get to the courtyard.**

The boy turned, heart hammering in his chest. The creature from the badlands loomed over him. It idly snapped an ancient femur like a twig, then prodded a blood-red tongue in search of the marrow.

It was a hideous kind of beast-man. Shaggy orange fur covered its body save for its pale white lips and tall bat-like ears. Yellow teeth the size of a grown man's fingers bared at the boy in a grimace. Jaundice-yellow eyes beheld him from baggy sockets with barely restrained hunger. It breathed air that smelled like death.

"Do not make me angry, you stupid child," the skull suddenly yelled, "there is no escaping this. You will come down here **now**!" As it screamed, its voice whined like a saw on steel.

The boy's left hand slipped into his pocket and wrapped around the stone. His right came up to his mouth as if covering it in horror and slipped his middle finger and thumb in.

He whistled sharply. The beast-man blinked in confusion and, when the cub growled in response from the courtyard, spun about with an inquisitive huff. The boy let go and slid through it's crouching, muscular legs, screaming out as he fell into open air. He reached for the chain but at the last moment, felt gnarled fingers snatch his hood.

He nearly slid down out of his tunic, kicking and struggling to grasp the chain in his free hand.

" **Do not** kill him," the skull roared, every word meaningless to the terrified child, "he has to help me! He did this to me!"

"Ah!" His fingers grasped the chain and his left hand swung up smash the hand holding him. With an ape-like hoot the beast-man released him and the boy wrenched himself onto the chain. In the courtyard his cub was yowling and crying at him, limping in a circle around the sword. The blade glowed sapphire in the moonlight and was inlaid with the reflection of the distant stars.

The chain shuddered in his grasp. He spared a glance back as he scrambled down. The beast-man was gaining, swinging its body from chain to chain with a steady pace. The boy hoped forward to the last three chains and let himself drop the final six feet.

"Ow!" he yelped. The tunic was tough and spared him broken bones. The beast was tough as well and dropped the ground before he could get up. It's huge hand wrapped around him and hoisted him up. Teeth appeared in front of his face and the boy whimpered in terror.

His ears stung as the monster roared at him and the star wheeled overhead as he was hurled across the courtyard. The tunic saved him again.

 **The sword!** The boy blinked and shook his head then cried out in delight. The stupid beast-man had thrown him half-way to his weapon. The beast-man rose up behind him and pounded on its chest as it roared, then flexed its bulging arms triumphantly. The boy scuttled forward, heart quickening.

"By the-" he started to say, his little hand kissed the top of the hilt, when the ground shook with three huge lopes. Fingers on his hood tunic's hem wrenched him away and dragged him, bumping up and down, across the courtyard stones.

"Ah," the boy cried out in frustration, nails digging at the dusty soil, "no! No! Nooooo!"

"Bring him," the skull said, voice resonant even from so far away, "bring him down to me." Laughter followed. Horrible, booming laughter that rang like thunderbolts inside a copper drum.

"No!" the boy shrieked. A blur of green movement and yellow eyes lunged from the dark with a fierce snarl. The beast-man howled. He danced in a circle and released the boy to grab at his back where the cub clung to it with all of its claws and teeth. It growled around the mouthful of the beast-man's shoulder.

 **Now, the sword!** The boy was on his feet, eyes stinging with the air that rushed by him as he ran. He grabbed the hilt of the sword and screamed the only five words he really knew. He didn't know when or how he'd learned them, or what they truly meant. But they, like the sword and the Other One, had always been there.

"By the power…" he bellowed, the sword was suddenly weightless and rose above his head to point at the stars, "of Greyskull!"

Thunder rumbled from the clear sky and lightning burst up around the old gray castle in a curtain of white zig-zags. They crested, joined, and fell to earth where the boy stood panting. He felt only the barest tingling in his fingertips.

And then, the Other One emerged. He took the place of the boy, who sat inside, in the sunken seat of their strange shared mind, where he waited patiently for peace to return.

The beast-man had the cub in both fists and grinned as it began to twist. The sword rose up, weighing little more than a toothpick in the brawny hand of the Other One. He flicked it forward like a small dagger and it whistled as it whirled through the air. The tip grazed the beast-man's right ear before burying itself with a shimmering noise into the wood of the drawbridge.

The beast-man keened in agony as it dropped the cub to clasp at its ruined ear. The Other One surged forward like a heavy wave and slammed himself into the monster, taking them both into the drawbridge. The boy yelped inside as the world seemed to shift and fall with a heavy wooden crash. Then he heard the chains rattling alongside them and he realized the ancient door had fallen open with the Other One's strength.

The beast-man was wide-eyed with terror and he hooted as he scrambled back on his elbows to the very edge of the drawbridge.

"No," breathed the skull, "nooo! You useless, squirming, flea-bitten rug!"

The Other One yanked the sword free and twirled it once as he raised it high for the finishing blow. The beast-man shrunk back further and toppled end over end into the yawning blackness of the moat. It shrieked as it went, making the boy want to plug his ears. The Other One pounded his chest with his free hand and flexed his arm in a mocking sendoff to its fallen foe.

The skull shrieked like a pair of swords meeting.

" **I'll kill you! I'll kill you!** You can't escape justice, **you monster! Spawn of conniving oathbreakers! I'll kill you!** _**Kill you**_ **!"** The Other One stepped to the edge of the drawbridge and rested the sword on his shoulder, staring down at the writhing skull. A shudder of contempt ran through the boy's shared mind. The sword pointed toward the skull and a bolt of lighting blasted forth to scour the cliffside out from under it.

"Wh-what have you done?" The skull chirped, "This isn't right. Not again! You can't win again!"

"Goodbye," a voice like an earthquake came from the Other One. The boy winced, even inside. The Other One was loud. The cliff cracked and began to crumble and the skull rolled away to the edge.

"This isn't over," it rasped, tumbling away into the free air. The purple cloak trailed after it like the tail of a comet. Just before the darkness swallowed it completely, it hissed, loud enough to be heard.

"I'll kill you," the skull promised.

Silence reigned for a long moment as the Other One stared into the moat. The boy could not read his emotions. Then with heavy steps, the Other One return to the courtyard and raised the mighty drawbridge with a few one-handed turns of the enormous wooden winch.

Their home secure, the Other One sat himself against the cistern and lifted the sword up.

"Let the power return," he said. The lightning lanced away into the dark and disappeared. The boy looked into the sword and saw the Other One reflected in its blade.

Through a long blanket of thick golden hair, a pair of eyes like blue suns burned into his. He squirmed and pulled his hood over his eyes with one

 **Look at me,** the Other One said. The boy did so reluctantly. The Other One's eyes searched him carefully. **It's alright. It's over. You're safe.** The boy sniffled and growled at the tears that started falling down his skull and the beast-man were gone but his heart was still hammering in his chest. His mouth still tasted like metal. If he'd only listened before, none of this would've happened. It was all his fault.

 **Don't do that**. **I'll always protect you. Always.**

The boy felt the words more than heard them. They made him look up to his company and smile with a little sniff. He pressed his cheek to the reflection, seeking a hug, and the cool touch of metal soothed him. He frowned when he looked back and now only saw himself within the sword's reflection.

 **Right here. Always.** His cub limped out of hiding and draped over him with a happy, sleepy whuff. With warmth and good company, he managed, somehow, to fall asleep.


	3. Alignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alignment has begun. All of Etheria braces themselves as the planet is rocked by powerful surges in magic. But while others are running for cover, Hordak puts the rare occasion to use.

Hordak frowned at the small robot on his work-table and turned it gently with the tip of his finger. It was an orb of white metal, similar in appearance to the spider-drones that served in his army. A sturdy construct that made maximum use of minimal energy. It was, he knew, another masterpiece of engineering for the backwater world he was trapped on and sought to conquer. It was the key to his salvation.

But in the one set of eyes that mattered, those which saw all and knew all, it would still be so much garbage. Perhaps, after everything, his brother would simply reject his message for the ugliness of the messenger. It could be better. It _should_ be better. The signal that would bring order to Etheria and make whole once again the family of the Horde should **not** be so primitive.

“Useless,” he snarled, “useless!” Without thinking, he swept the machine and his tools off the table with a broad swing of his hand. It was a powerful strike, reminiscent of his strength from the dream-like time before his body had betrayed him. Had betrayed Horde Prime.

Too much like it, in fact, as the sudden vice like pain paralyzing his left shoulder. He was outside of his raiment and he glared, vision shivering with pain, as his graying veins pulsed in agony.

“Useless!” His own voice said back to him. Lantern-like yellow eyes swooped down from the ceiling and his Imp landed deftly on the messenger bot, which had rolled a few inches before the gyroscope inside it corrected its roll to stop. The child-like creature snickered and made a game of shoving the bot forward to watch it reroute itself. Hordak braced himself on the table.

At the very least the gyroscope worked, and, as he watched the orb roll, it could be said that it remained undamaged after the fall. He rubbed idly at his shoulder, breathing sharply through his nose as he made his way over. The Imp helpfully leapt aside as its master approached, grinning eagerly up at him. Hordak plucked the orb from the ground; grateful he didn’t make it any heavier than necessary.

“It is enough,” he said to himself, “it **must** be enough.” Yet the feeling of dread did not leave the pit of his sunken stomach. There was something more than the robot that vexed the Leader of the Horde relentlessly. Something about the very day that seemed too inauspicious. Or too easy. He had been kept awake not by the excitement that an end to his exile should bring, but by anxiety. An increasing sense of certainty that he would never, in what was left of his life, leave the wretched ball of dirt and water that had been his prison for nearly five decades. It was not a fitting end for all the haunting memories.

The desperate, meteoric descent from the atmosphere, cocooned in fire as his pod shed metal like an opening chrysalis. The agonizing year of recovery afterward. The two years that followed that, filled with intrigue and bloodshed to follow, the remains of a civil war amongst the Scorpioni, the first metal foundations of the Fright Zone. Seventeen straight days of war as King Micah threw himself at the gates of his fortress, nearly breaking through far too many times.

The conquests, setbacks, victories, defeats, and the crushing, grinding stalemates that broke them up. The slow decay of his body and with it his hopes of going home.

Could they conclude on a balmy evening, near summer’s end, simply because the moons of Etheria were aligning for the first time in fifty years?

“Fool,” he snapped to himself, “what are you thinking? Emotions. Useless, distracting emotions.” Soon it wouldn’t matter. Soon he could plunge into the amniotic fluid and draw himself up, cleansed to his very center, of all of it.

Peace. After fifty years of war Lord Hordak would know peace. That, he decided was worth any route home.

A proximity alert drew him out of his reverie and he shuffled slowly to the front of his lab, briefly resting against the high back of his throne. He spared a glance behind him at the empty halo of metal in the center of his lab and stared longingly at the circle of concrete wall that it framed. He shrugged on a long black cloak, too tired to enter his raiment.

“Soon,” he said to the empty stairs and cavernous walls of his throne room, seating himself in his rightful place, “soon.”

The doors slid open and Hordak tensed as the criss-crossing green lights of his sanctum suddenly seemed to dim. There was no static to the steady hum of power that entered them. It did not appear to be another of the Fright Zone’s irritating brown-outs.

_Wretched place,_ he thought unkindly, _a pale forgery of the true Horde. I will be well rid of you._ He would level every scrap-metal angle of this place and erect the white steel stronghold Horde Prime deserved. 

“My lord,” Shadow Weaver said, bowing as she entered, “events proceed on the projected course.” 

Once, before his exile, Horde Prime had honored him with a summons. Off the shoulder of a serpentine nebula, pink with ionized gases, swirled a vortex of orange light around a perfect circle of darkness; a black hole. Shadow Weaver, small and distant at the foot of his throne’s stairs, sat like the embodiment of that memory, swallowing all light.

“The instruments are set,” Hordak said, grimacing as his Imp landed on his pained shoulder, “and prepared for midnight exactly. If any adjustments are required, Shadow Weaver, you have precious few hours to change them.”

“What we have will work, my lord, I stake every word of knowledge I have on that promise,” Shadow Weaver approached like a specter of death, “the alignment will soon flood this planet with raw power the likes of which would blast lesser minds apart. So few Etherians recognize the value of this event.”

“Did you expect me to overlook it as well?” Horde Prime had once told him that no true ruler asked questions. They made accusations to be denied or confirmed.

“Forgive me, sire, I state the obvious only with regards to our enemies,” she demonstrated a crackle of red light in her hands, “so much power could turn the tide of this war. And yet, our scouts report no movements by the Princess Alliance. The event lasts less than a half-hour. Because of this, they can see no use for it, unlike you.”

_Fools,_ Hordak thought, _a millisecond of such energy could solve a thousand problems._ This planet, so blessed with this elusive energy called magic, _needed_ the firm hand of Hordak and the wise guidance of Horde Prime. He considered the sorceress carefully. She waited patiently for him.

“Tell me honestly,” he said at last, “were you disappointed when I ordered all this power siphoned to _my_ lab? You brought this information to me, years ago; on the off-chance I might make use of it. I know you, Shadow Weaver. You do not simply ‘suggest’ things.”

“I am yours to command,” she said, the red-jewel in her mask glinted as she bowed again, “it is not my place to question your orders.”

“Then I order you to tell me what you wished to do with this power,” he growled, leaning forward in his seat. He hated how she tried to feed his ego, like he was some cave-dwelling warlord trying to paint his likeness across a mountainside. He was Hordak, sibling of the Great Horde Prime. A cracked reflection of the True Master of the Universe. He deserved any answer he wished from his subordinates.

And, although magic fascinated him, he had little time to engage in its study outside of purely practical applications. Power was power, however esoteric its rules.

“Since I first read of the event as an acolyte in Mystacoar,” Shadow Weaver sighed almost wistfully, “I have asked myself that question, Lord Hordak. Too many possibilities. Too few people willing to entertain the concept. My old teacher, Norwyn ‘the Wise’ or so he was exalted, actually told me that I should be grateful for such disappointment. ‘Limitations wake us from the dark dream of power.’ He was full of such _clever_ platitudes.”

“What became of this sage? I have never heard reports of him,” Hordak searched his mind for _any_ information on his Second-In-Command beyond the little she’d ever cared to share. A further sting to his pride. None kept secrets from Horde Prime but Hordak could not say the same.

_Soon. Soon I will be free of these concerns._

“He died,” Shadow Weaver said casually, “quite hideously. I suppose he must’ve been happy, at last, to fully understand his own limitations.” Only the slight narrowing of her eyes gave her statement any humor. Although, Hordak considered it could simply be joy. 

“Then he is of no concern to me,” Hordak said, “our living enemies, however, continue to defy us. I’ve had word that all of our forward positions are on high-alert and prepared in case, against your suspicions, our foes choose to take advantage of the alignment. Has Force Captain Catra returned?” Shadow Weaver’s shoulders tensed in a way that was reassuring to see. For all her evident power, she remained the same predictable woman.

“She has,” Shadow Weaver didn’t hide her contempt, “with all her soldiers and none of their equipment. My lord, I must raise my protests about her again-”

“You are mine to command,” Hordak said steadily, “it is not your place to question my orders. Is that not what you said?” He smirked as she bowed in answer. “We will consider a suitable punishment for the troops after the alignment.”

“With regards to ‘after’ the alignment, sire,” Shadow Weaver’s eyes searched him, “how do we prepare for the arrival of our brethren?” Hordak could have laughed at that. ‘Brethren’. Shadow Weaver devoured every scrap of information Hordak tossed her way. Space. The true Horde. The limitless number of worlds stretched across the long-forgotten stars. She understood none of it, yet already she spoke of herself as a part of the family.

“I will keep my own counsel on that regard,” Hordak said, “and on that note, you are dismissed. Alert those within the Fright Zone to cease all non-essential traffic. We will not waste any time recovering from unexpected consequences.” Shadow Weaver bowed low.

“I leave then, to preform this service,” she said, “and thank you for the opportunity, mighty one. We were lost before you brought enlightenment to this world.” Hordak bared his teeth when she turned away and reminded himself that Shadow Weaver, while many things, was not a fool.

“You are experiencing the effects of the alignment now, are you not?” He asked suddenly. “Describe them.”

“Like a hurricane is trying to rip me apart from the inside,” Shadow Weaver looked back with her dead eyes, “but I can control it. I wonder if the same can be said for the young princesses.”

“They are not,” Hordak said with a wave of his hand, “of concern at this point.”

_Perhaps never again,_ he thought. If it worked. If. Hope, another useless emotion, swelled in his chest as he turned the messenger bot in his hand. It looked like a small planet in his thin-fingered grasp.

An inauspicious key, perhaps. But he resolved once again to do anything to unlock the prison of Despondos and set himself free. Woe to those who would defy him.

  
  


* * *

“That’s it!” New-Girl jumped nervously into the air and dropped her spear as the door to Princess Mermista’s quarters slammed open. The Princess looked absolutely furious even as a lank strand of wet hair swayed in front of her face. “The toilet water just chased me around my room. I need to swim! _Now_!” Behind her, the room’s complimentary waterfall fountain had begun to sneakily change course and overflow its basin as well.

This, at last, explained why she hadn’t left her room all day.

Mermista turned an expectant look on New-Girl. Four months ago, she had been a farmgirl called Beatrice of Alwyn before she’d rushed off to join the Rebellion. Now a _princess_ was looking at her, expecting her to do something. The girl flushed enough to make her freckles vanish as she sheepishly recovered her spear. Mern gave his comrade a smile and a wink before inclining his head to their irate charge.

“The castle is yours, Princess, and we would be happy to show you to the pool our guards use for training,” he said. Mermista grimaced as she moved her hair out of her face.

"No, I said I need to _swim_ ,” she repeated, “a pool isn’t gonna cut it. Do you guys have anything deeper than that lake outside?” Mern, normally unflappable, shook his head slowly. “Ugh, fine. It’ll have to do.”

She spun, bathrobe billowing around the turquoise sweats and under-shirt she used as pajamas. The guards hurried after her and cried out as she ran for the nearest balcony at break-neck speed. With practiced grace, the Princess leapt onto the balustrade, shrugged off of her bathrobe, twined her hands overhead in a diver’s pose, and launched herself into open air.

“Princess!” New-Girl squeaked, slamming into the white-stone balustrade with a metal crash. She had enough time to admire the stunning pike position Mermista struck before she spiraled into a perfect dive hundreds of feet down towards the surface of Bright-Moon Lake. “We-We only had _ten minutes left_ on our shift!”

There was no audible splash as the Princess hit the distant, moonlight surface, and but a ripple sprang out that seemed far too wide. And, she might’ve been wrong, but the sudden churning of the water couldn’t be right either.

“New-Girl, get back!” Mern grabbed her cloak and wrench her back inside. Preceded with a rumble that felt like a leviathan rolling in its sleep, a column of water burst back up to stand nearly as tall as the cliffs, wall, and tower of Bright-Moon Castle put together. Mermista reclined languidly on the roiling top of it, and sighed heavily and nodded at New-Girl.

“So, hey!” She had to yell over the roar of the water under her. “Could you be an absolute doll and go grab the Mer-Mystery novel that's in a plastic baggie? Like leave it in the baggie, I mean, just bring the whole thing down to the shore. And there’s a box of salt-water taffy near it, bring two blue ones and take a kind you like for yourself. _Thank you_.” New-Girl nodded dumbly.

Down below, the walls and courtyard filled with castle staff and guardsmen. The refugee camp along the main-shore seethed with activity. Captain Lima was going to yell at them for this, New-Girl just knew it.

“Bet Lysander and Ksana don’t have to deal with this,” she mumbled. Mern nodded.

“Yeah, they just gotta deal with that,” he pointed, eyes growing huge, at a titanic dandelion erupting from the direction of their barracks. The thousands of people below were turning like spectators at a tennis-match between two amazing scenes, unable to choose a miracle to watch.

Ksana roared triumphantly as she hewed another thick branch down with her two-handed hanger sword. She flexed vainly and shot Lysander an evil grin. Her three-eyed friend was quietly working a thin, green vine with a small knife.

“Lysander he’s our man,” Ksana sang like a cheerleader, grin growing, “if he can’t do it… well that’s just sad, cuz I’m pretty sure a baby can. Why don’t you just take a seat? Witness ‘The Event’ as she happens.”

“It’s our responsibility,” Lysander said, not rising to the jibes, “after all, we forgot about the vegetable garden and the Princess trusted us.” Ksana hummed thoughtfully as she cleaved through another tomato plant stem thick as a tree trunk.

“You could just take a load off. I need a sounding board for some of my new pick-up lines. Whole lotta new Rebels coming into Bright-Moon these days. All these Plumerians and folks from Salineas get their assignments here and ship out. Know what that means?” She winked. 

“Aside from a few unlucky souls, most of them will be spared your demeaning flirtations? ” Lysander said, working the vine carefully.

“Yeah, I know, stinks for them,” she said with a shrug then brightened, “Oh! I just thought of a good one! ‘Shipping out tomorrow, soldier? Then this is your last night to visit ‘The Event’.” She hefted her sword high and took aim at the center mass of vines. “How’s bout this one? ‘You an artillery captain, girl, cuz I see you inspecting these big guns-”

The wall of vines collapsed into a sad heap and her swing hit air. Ksana ‘The Event’ stumbled forward with a squeak. Lysander said nothing but he smiled as he twirled the cut vine in his fingers.

“I wouldn’t open with it,” he shrugged. Further bickering died as the sound of deep sobs broke through the thick jungle their vegetable garden had grown into. Instincts flared and the guards battered aside the brush until they came to the root of the big dandelion. Princess Perfuma looked up from a throne of crabgrass, lip quivering with emotion.

“I just thought I’d weed your garden! You two have been so nice and helpful. I wanted to repay you,” she hiccupped, “I promise I didn’t do this on purpose. You must hate me now!”

“No,” Ksana said awkwardly, scratching the base of one horn, “no-no-no! We get it, Princess, we get it. It’s…gonna be ok.” The Plumerian jumped from her seat and wrapped the big woman in a tight, weepy hug.

“Oh, you’re such a good person,” she said into the pauldron on Ksana’s shoulder, “I could read your energy right away.” Ksana offered her an awkward pat on the back and then jolted as thin tendrils crept around her bare knees. More vines weaved like spider-webs around her and the Princess, tying them tightly together.

“Got any more pick-up lines? We’ll be here a while.” Lysander voice was so smug she could’ve strangled him. Especially when Perfuma glanced up, noticed the predicament, and burst into a fresh round of blubbery apologies.

_Captain Lima is gonna yell at us._ She thought with a frown.

* * *

Adora used both hands to lift her foot out of the six-inch depression it left in the path along the Dryl mountain range. Overhead, the skies roiled with black thunderheads. That must’ve been the tingling sensation in her…everything. Teeth, toes, and ends of her hair. She felt electric.

“Just transform,” Glimmer said, foot moving in a blur of motion, “I’ve scouted ahead like twenty times and cuz Bow won’t let me go further-”

“Five miles ahead is enough,” the archer hissed, “and keep your voice down. Avalanche area.”

“Whatever,” Glimmer whispered, “c’mon, Adora, just turn into She-Ra. Maybe that’ll even things out.”

“Well-“ Adora began, reaching for the golden hilt peeking over her left shoulder. Bow pouted and waved her hand away.

“No,” he said, “we agreed no ‘She-Ra’ until we’re certain you won’t just…fall right through to the planet’s core or something. Just…oh, I got it. Tip-toes. Use your tip-toes.”

“No way, that’ll take forever,” Glimmer said, “lemme teleport-”

“Glimmer,” Bow said sternly, “we shouldn’t rush her.” Glimmer stomped her foot and pouted. “C’mon, Adora, tip-toes.” Adora nodded and gathered up her courage.

_You got this! You got this!_ She told herself. She stepped forward gingerly and shrieked as her angled foot slid into solid rock like a spear into bubble-bath foam.

“That’s it,” she held up her sword, “For the Honor-” Bow shot her a worried look and she whispered- “…of Grayskull.”

This was different. It felt different. It felt great.

She danced in place, giggling as her feet stayed firmly atop the ground rather than punching through it. But she could feel the power to shatter it with a single toe welling up in her, running along her like a current of electricity along a lightning-rod. She-Ra felt the whole planet under her foot like it was another part of her body waiting to be flexed.

“Dryl is still a ways off,” Bow said, “the tracker puts our ETA at like 1AM. You going She-Ra the whole rest of the way?” The Princess of Power nodded as she stretched. 

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know what it is but I feel just,” she made a fist, “so pumped! Like I could bench-press a building. Yeah! Let’s do this! Let’s get Princess Entrapta in the Alliance!” She held her hand to Gimmer. Glimmer teleported to make up for height and high-fived her. 

“Alright,” she beamed, “that’s what I like to hear. Princess Alliance!” 

“Yeah! Princess Alliance!” She-Ra shouted. Bow made a quick effort to shush her. 

“Yeah!” Glimmer barked over him. “So ready for this!” 

“Yeah! Super ready!” She-Ra bellowed. 

“Guys, avalanches,” Bow squeaked. 

“Yeah,” She-Ra screamed enthusiastically, “avalanches!” Her voice echoed across the world and, as a rebuttal, a large rock came shattering onto the path several feet from them. 

“ _Inside voices_ ,” Bow said, eyes huge.

“Yeah,” She-Ra whispered, “inside voices!” Glimmer teleported onto broad, impossibly strong shoulders and pawed at hair that glowed like it was spun from gold. She-Ra struck a

“Don’t want to say ‘I was right’,” she hummed, “but…I was right.” Her fingers dipped down to a marble-hard bicep. “Say, are you, like, extra strong today or something?”

“No,” She-Ra grinned, “thank goodness. I feel in control now, that was getting scary for a second.”

“Glad you’re on our side,” Glimmer noogied her friend with both fists.

She-Ra paused at that and felt the rush of emotions that came from the part of her that was purely Adora. A maelstrom of feelings that all seemed to center around choosing between a girl with mis-matched eyes and the entire world.

Overhead the thunder lashed the air but the storm refused to break.

* * *

Catra glared at the ceiling of her spacious Force Captain quarters. She hated everything. She hated the quiet of the large, lonely room that she’d once dreamed of whenever Lonnie snored. She hated that Scorpia had hounded her all the way back to her stupid room babbling about going to meet her mom. 

“To ‘celebrate’ the mission,” she mimicked to herself, in an appropriately mocking voice, “whatever that means.” She hated the idea of having to see two people who cared about each other…caring about each other. She’d been inundated with it for the last three days.

She nearly bit Rogelio’s head off for hanging by Kyle’s side the whole march home. She rolled over and groaned into the mattress, a cloud of softness when compared to the bunks. 

“Ugh, why did I make Rogelio take rear-guard just to mess with them? If I don’t cool it with the whip-cracking, they’ll start to think I _care_ what they do _._ ”

She headbutted the mattress.

“And now I am talking to myself. Why is everything…everything!” She curled up on her side and stared at a blank space on the wall. She hated it. She hated how uniformly empty it was. Like no-one had ever lived here before even though unnamed dozens of Force Captains must have.

“I’ll just be alone,” she murmured, “plenty of people do that. Like Lord Hordak. He’s a loner.” She smiled and sat herself up. “Duh, Catra, of course this is a good thing. Strong people don’t need anybody. I mean, you didn’t even want to be a Force Captain before she left. You never got to see or do anything!” 

She folded her arms behind her head and lay back down. She gave the ceiling a smug, triumphant smile. 

“And just think. You’ve been to Salineas, the Whispering Wood, Thaymor, Plumeria,” her voice soured all at once, “and got your butt kicked every time. And then you come back to your room and keep **talking to yourself!** Argh!” She hopped off the bed and unsheathed her claws. She needed to shred something. She turned her ire on the stupid, too-soft pillows that had come with the room. 

“Stupid Adora,” she disemboweled one pillow of all its fluff. “Stupid Scorpia and Scorpia’s mom.” She dug her fangs in another one, tasting the thread-count. 

“Stupid… stupid pillows!” She tried to kick the last one clear across the room and dug her foot-claws fully into it. She hopped on one foot, hissing in rage, until her legs hit the bed and she slumped back on it. The top of her head smacked the far wall. 

“Ow!” She yelped, digging her fingers into her messy mane, “Ow-ow-ow! Stupid!” She blinked away a few tears of pain, hating the fact that they’d leave marks in her fur. 

“This is what I want,” she shouted to the empty room, “I want to be alone. I am **happy** being alone! So everybody better just leave me alone!” She folded her arms, turned up her nose, and listened. 

The empty room offered no response. 

“Good,” she snapped, turning over and curling up on the mattress, “you all better keep it that way. Or else.” 

* * *

Shadow Weaver examined the strange, lightning-rod structure that spiked up from the floor before her. Shortly, she would pour power into the likes of which had not been seen in half a century. The preparations were complete and the last hour before midnight began its slow death. Shadow Weaver searched once more through the old tomes spread across the shining black-stone slab that served as an arcane workspace.

Old texts from her days in Mystacoar, a few moldering scrolls of forbidden knowledge, and no fewer than three of her own writings on the nature of dark power. The Spell of Obtainment had been the beginning, and tonight’s work would further the creation of something truly unique.

And, most importantly, it would return her _greatest project_ to their natural place at her side.

Shadow Weaver retrieved her final tool, a long splinter of shining red gemstone the size and shape of a thin dagger. That had been hardest to retrieve of all her items. The Black Garnet was nearly indestructible.

But only nearly.

The shard was dead now that it was separated from the runestone and the Black Garnet replenished itself almost immediately, but even dead things had power, when turned to the right purpose.

She drifted to the Mage-Apprentice Primer that, once upon a time, had been given to a raven-haired little girl with bright-eyes named Light-Spinner. She turned to the index and searched out the exact number for the page about basics of magical transference. She paused at a hasty, zig-zagging rip that nearly severed it from the book.

“How did that happen?” She wondered aloud and paused in surprise as she remembered. A six-year-old girl trying her best to stand still, at parade rest, and looking everywhere but up at her.

_“I am waiting for an answer, Cadet,” Shadow Weaver said, “and I do not wish to wait long. How did this happen? Was this Catra’s doing? Is that why you’re so reluctant?” The little pony-tail whipped the air as the girl shook her head._

_“No,” she launched into a breathless explanation, eyes squeezing shut, “it was me! I did it. Catra wasn’t here, she was napping back in the barracks and I didn’t want to wake her so I came here cuz you said I could always come see you if you weren’t busy but the door was open and you weren’t here and there was a book-”_

_“Adora,” Shadow Weaver snapped, “I will be cross no matter what you say, but I will become_ **_very unhappy_ ** _if you do not open your eyes and look at me! Do you still want to be a Force Captain someday?” She smiled under her mask at the hard, determined nod Adora gave her. “Then you will face things far more terrifying than me. Now. What did you do?”_

_“It was an accident!” Shadow Weaver leaned down and narrowed her eyes._

_“I did not ask that, Adora, and I do not care about your reasons. Results. Those are the only things that matter. This is a very old book that I cannot replace easily. You have damaged it. Now look me in the eyes and tell me what happened.”_

_“I just tried…I turned the page and it ripped,” she said, “I didn’t touch it after that. I waited for you.”_

_“Very good,” Shadow Weaver said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “that was very good of you to do, Adora, and it’s better that you told me right away.” The girl smiled. “However…” her smile dropped, “you know there are consequences now. What do you think should happen?”_

_“I should fix it? With tape?” Shadow Weaver shook her head. “Can I find you a new one?” She stifled a laugh at that, imagining the tiny girl sneaking into Mystacoar. “I…I don’t know then.”_

_“Well I think-”_

_“I just wanted to be like you!” Adora squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked out. Shadow Weaver normally hated interruptions, but as the words registered she felt herself stop._

_“I know reasons don’t matter,” the little girl said, meeting her eyes, “but I just wanted to see if I could do magic like you do!” Adora resolutely looked up at her, unfailing if not unafraid._

_“Then I know your punishment,” Shadow Weaver said at last after a long moment of thought, “you will lose one hour of your evening Free-Period each week and spend it here, with me.” Blue eyes sparkled with wonder. “Let us begin with something easy for now, while I have time.” The girl saluted and tried not to grin too wide._

The little corner of the room still had the stool Adora had used as a child, taking in lesson after lesson on Thaumaturgy. But that first time, Shadow Weaver recalled, she had opened the book on the stone slab, as it was now, and stood over Adora’s shoulder, long robed arms on either side of her, gently turning each page so Adora would not rip them by accident.

Shadow Weaver heard something drip to the floor and realized she’d squeezed the shard of the Black Garnet enough to draw blood. She sealed the cut with a spell and hardly felt anything.

  
  


* * *

  
  


In his lab, at the heart of the Fright Zone, Hordak finished the circuit that would draw power from the distant Chambers of the Black Garnet directly to the machine before him. 

“Finally,” Hordak whispered in his lab, watching the moons finish sliding into place on his screen. He sent a wordless alert to Shadow Weaver and felt himself fall fully into sheer, blind hope. His weak body shuddered with a heavy breath.

“It ends. At last, it ends.”

  
  


* * *

As controlled chaos reigned below her, Queen Angella watched the towering moons high overhead. She smiled sadly at the picture of Micah she kept by her bedside.

“If she were here,” Angella said, “if she understood what this was, I just know she’d run off and try to level the Fright Zone by herself. She has too much of you in her, Micah.” She felt the alignment’s power run to her from the Moonstone, urging her to fly. She controlled herself, as she never had throughout all the alignments before this one.

“That’s what I love about our daughter,” she whispered, “that’s what I can’t risk. She’s so young. So much power for someone so young.”

* * *

  
  


“Alert,” the subroutine chimed, “alert. Commencing energy burn.”

“Upon completion,” Light Hope said, watching the alignment from her room within the Crystal Castle, “delete this subroutine.” For better or worse, this would be Etheria’s last alignment. Adora was the key. The sword was meant for Adora. Light-Hope would fulfill her mission. And she would make certain Adora fulfilled hers.

* * *

“I shall give you all the power you could want, Lord Hordak,” Shadow Weaver whispered to the Black Garnet, “there is more than enough for _both_ of our purposes.” The runestone was volcanic with red light as power raced out of the earth and down from the empty sky all at once. She touched one hand to the Garnet.

The power was beyond all comprehension.

Her lifetime of hardship melted from her mind before its unendurable heat. Every time her classmates in Mystacoar had whispered behind her back meant nothing. Head Sorcerer Norwyn’s indictments and weak, empty platitudes meant nothing. The face of Micah, young and afraid one moment, hard and defiant the next, meant nothing. 

Hordak meant nothing. Etheria meant nothing. 

There was only power. 

It did not defy her or shirk from her in terror. It rushed into her, eager as a child running to her mother, and filled her instantly. She strained against the forces, already trying to burst out and move in the form of a thousand dark spells. It wanted to be wielded. 

“A-Adora,” she ground out to herself, “you are doing this for Adora! **Be strong for Adora!** ” Her free hand trembled against a pull stronger than gravity itself and scraped her fingertips against the lightning-rod

A path opened and the power rushed eagerly into it. All save for a fraction, though a fraction the size and depth of an ocean, which coalesced in the gem atop her mask. 

“This,” Shadow Weaver said, awe tingeing her voice, “is true power.” She could feel it winding like the body of a great snake, up from the center of the world and swirling inside Lord Hordak’s portal machine. She truly did wish him luck, even if it was beside the point.

“This is for Adora,” Shadow Weaver sighed. “For _your Adora._ ”

* * *

The portal’s humming leapt into a high-pitched whine. The little spy fled off Hordak’s shoulder and scrambled for a hidden place to cower. The Leader of the Horde dug in his armored heels against a steady, pulling sensation and lifted his messenger orb in offering. 

“Brother,” he said into it, red eyes narrowed in concentration, “I await you at the coordinates carried by this machine. There is power in this place that I have found.” Red lightning bathed the room and burst the overhead lights. “Such power. In need of your strong hand to guide it. I have done as you taught me. It must be enough.” 

A light began to circle the ring of the portal machine. Reality and time stirred into a solid wall of unimaginable colors. Hordak, who had seen more than anyone on the backwater planet, could not put a name to a single one of them. 

But he knew their meaning, and nervous joy filled his heart. 

“If I perish before we meet again, brother,” his voice strained against the outpouring of power, pushing and pulling him all at once, “know that I…” A lightning bolt scorched the walls. Hordak’s grip pierced a concrete pillar with the fingers of his other hand as he leveraged himself. 

“There was never a prouder sibling in existence! I was honored to be your brother! It was everything to me!” The Leader of the Horde loosened his grip on the messenger-ball. It sailed across the lab like it was made of paper, shimmering as it soared to the portal. 

It did not sink or pass through the wall of light. It simply trembled for a moment in one space, and then existed in the next. A few moments, that was all it would take, and Horde Prime would know where to look. He’d know where to find his little brother. 

  
  


* * *

Across time and space, winging gently through the hot air above the badlands, a falcon dived suddenly and pivoted towards the old gray castle. Something was happening, somewhere in the depths of space, that had happened before and brought terrible power crashing into the dead world. 

It dulled years of animal sharpness and allowed, for a moment, her true mind to return to the surface in brief bursts of confused thoughts. 

_Adora!_ The bird’s mind was flooded with an old voice she couldn’t recognize as her own thoughts. She reached out to someone long gone. _Adora! Duncan, do you hear me? Something is here. Its coming for Adora…no, no it took her! It already took her! What more does it want now?_

The boy. It was after the boy.

She flew hard, crying out to the dead, forgotten world with anguish and urgency. Below her time shifted and jumped, her memories began to fight for space like rabid animals. Blasted sand became lush, violet grass and withered in heartbeat. The dry bones and black armor jumped up into two armies of living warriors, crashing into each other.

“Eternia!” Both sides screamed at each other. “For Eternia!”

The castle shimmered before her as she soared towards it and flashed its history before her eyes. Empty and abandoned and crumbling. Filled with life and sound and laughter. Withered by peace. Ravaged by war. A hut of stone.

A circle of earth inside a bottomless ring, where a congregation of great bird-headed figures huddled close. The falcon could hear their whispers.

_Adora!_ She called to them. _You have to save her, they’re stealing Adora!_ The figures did not heed her.

The falcon nearly crashed into the courtyard but banked hard at the last possible second. She soared through halls that hung empty around one corner and became crowded in the next. The figures faded as she flew through them, until one did not.

“Ah!” The child cried out, sitting heavily from the impact, “ah?” The falcon saw the sword in their hand.

_Adora!_ She tried to embrace them and ended up buffeting the startled little thing with her wingspan. _You’re safe! Wait, no. I thought…no, no! We must go!_ Her talons gripped the purple hood tightly and yanked.

The child struggled all the way through the halls, the little green cub yowling the whole while. The sword clanked on the flagstones. At last, she pulled the strange parade of figures into the abandoned workroom where the Jewel and the stone door took center stage. The falcon managed to herd the child inside with his pet. As she hopped on the floor, blocking his exit, time unwound before her.

A woman hummed quietly to herself as she scribbled at a metal desk, reclining slightly in a chair held up on four wheels. She had hair sweeping down her left shoulder, like a waterfall of gold, from a side cut. The falcon’s heart twisted at the sight of her and half-remembered who she was and why she hurt to look at. 

“Oh, my love,” the woman sang under her breath, smiling , “oh, it was a funny little thing. It was a funny, funny little thing.” She glanced up and smiled as a man stepped into the room, looking every inch the domestic servant but carrying himself with an undeniable authority. The woman’s electric blue eyes twinkled as she chewed the end of her pencil. “Could be the hormones...but something about the apron is just doing it for me.” She sat up at the sight of the steaming bowl balanced carefully on a tray. “ Soup! Gimme, gimme. Did you scrounge up any crackers, sweetness?” The man produced a plastic sheaf. “Oh my god, I love you so much.” 

“What’s this?” The man looked over the blueprints she handed off to him, clearing a space for her lunch. “I thought you were working on the Door to All Worlds, today?” He nodded at the stone door and the pink jewel. “Finally meet your match?” 

“Meber-in-ur-libe,” the woman spewed cracker crumbs as she spoke, “I just needed a break.” The man turned the blueprint, displaying a two-headed dragon, and arched an eyebrow. The woman reached out and tugged playfully at the long plait of red hair that wound over his shoulder to hang down by his waist. “I have an explanation for that. If we can build a reliable android we could send it into the double-dragon’s dens and find out why their population is decreasing. Saving them from extinction could be a huge win for us with the Imperial Senate. They’d see our work is doing something.”

“I think instantaneous transportation through space and time is more their hope,” the man said, rubbing at his short, red beard. The woman tipped the bowl back, draining it in short order, while she glared at the stone door and the jewel.

“Please. Probably not in our lifetimes. You’d think galactic domination through normal means would be enough-Oh!” She rolled her seat back from her desk and placed a hand on her belly. She was pregnant and well into her third trimester. Her belly showed like a hill through her gray t-shirt. “Someone likes the soup!” She grabbed the man’s free hand and clasped it to her stomach and smiled at him with pure fondness. “Or maybe they know daddy’s visiting.” She winced. “Ow. That was my bladder, babies, please stop kicking there.” 

“Bathroom?” The man grinned, green-eyes twinkling. 

“Yes,” the woman sighed, “ _again._ Help me up?” She shrieked with laughter when he pulled the desk chair out from the table and pushed it along on its small plastic wheels. “Slowly! Wires are everywhere.” She crossed her ankles and tucked them out of the way. The falcon watched them vanish with the past. In their place appeared a small, dirty child with a sword on his back. 

“Adora?” the falcon asked. The child spun, showing eyes huge with amazement at hearing the falcon speak. He was tinged pink with the sudden blazing light of the gemstone and the radiant glow in the seam of the stone door.

No. Adora was lost. And this one had to stay, she remembered that much. He had to. Alone if need be until…until…until something could happen. The falcon couldn’t remember. Alone. He was such a lonely child, she knew that somewhere in her fading mind.

And if she faded completely? Who would he have then?

The falcon swept herself into the air and grasped the seam of the stone door, it shuddered open and the room lit up like she’d opened an entrance to the heart of a sun.

“Go!” she screamed. Other worlds. Other places. Somewhere far away from here. The magic that burst through the stone door’s threshold revived enough of her mind for her to see that she was doing the right thing. Her amber eyes flashed and the boy cried out, rubbing at his eyes, as a flood of information activated in the back of his mind. 

_You will learn. Slowly. It will be a long fight, but I know you can do it. Little one, you must be strong! You must be brave. Find her and you won’t have to be alone anymore._

The child hid in his hood and shook his head in fearful protest. He turned and rushed for the door that led back out, his sword abandoned. Something shimmered beneath the falcon and appeared through the magic doorway with a mechanical warble. It raced forward along the ground and crashed into the door by the boy’s feet. He shrieked and threw himself at the sword, then reached one hand out to snatch his cub from where it cowered in fear under a table.

“By the Power of Greyskull!” The room filled with power and noise. Then it filled with a wordless, guttural war cry. A huge figure stood, heedless of the tiger cub trying to maul its arm in fear. He turned and skewered the foreign object, a ball of white metal, on the very tip of his sword.

“Go!” The falcon cried again. The warrior rushed forward and into the light.

 _Find her,_ the falcon thought alone in the old gray castle, _find Adora._

  
  
  


The boy was more terrified. More than even when the skull had started talking to him. He, the Other One, and his cub were trapped in place by a universe of light and noise, yet he could feel them hurtling at incredible speeds towards something. Something far away, in ways he couldn’t understand.

Where they were going, he hadn’t even the bravery to guess. He held on and tried to remember that the Other One would protect him. 


	4. The Other One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra wakes in the night to a widespread blackout in the Fright Zone, and a desperate message from Hordak. She and Scorpia come to rescue him from a warrior out of time.

Hordak gripped desperately for purchase on one of the concrete pillars in his lab. The portal droned at him like the engines of a starship and he was lost inside his awe at the sheer potency of the alignment. 

_With power like this,_ he thought, _one would not simply be a conqueror. One could be a ruler of reality. A mathematical law of strength and authority that can resolve itself in only one way. Ascended to an undeniable constant of the universe._ The implications both terrified and awed him.

Overwhelmed fuses erupted into meteor showers of sparks and hurled the lab into darkness. Video screens that showed him his whole dominion went black and he was vaguely aware that untold damage was being done to a dozen ongoing experiments. But he could not look away from the portal anymore than he could resist the weight of gravity.

The long arc of red energy that fed into the machine waged war with the varigrade light from the portal to cast the room in dancing shadows of abstract colors. Briefly, the communicator in his wrist babbled with a hundred shocked voices alerting each other that something was going wrong before the channel became soft static.

The portal suddenly dimmed at its center. A shape took form there and Hordak’s fangs gleamed as his mouth went agape. A towering figure was taking shape, in its right hand was a sword and speared on the tip was a small white orb rapidly blinking away the last of its life. As the humanoid became solid, it whirled its sword with a deft flick of its fingers and Hordak watched his greatest hope of escape flung away into the shadows of his lab.

Amidst the noise of the lab, it didn’t even clatter when it fell to the floor.

He felt rage. Humiliation. A childish feeling of how punishing the universe was to him alone. Hordak pulled himself to his full height against the pressure of the event horizon that was this alignment’s power. 

The humanoid stood as well, impeded by none of the forces that whirled about it. Hordak observed with fascination as tendrils of light reached out of the portal and grabbed at the skin of the new arrival. Cords of muscles took shape in silhouette.

Idly Hordak was aware of his Imp shrieking and winging away to hide. Something else hissed and dropped from the humanoid’s hands to scurried off in a streak of green and orange. Lord Hordak noticed none of it, too consumed with the rage building inside him with each arrhythmic beat of his heart.

“What is the meaning of this?” He snarled. The figure glared at him with eyes that burned a radioactive blue. Lips parted over teeth like white cliffs and huge hands raised the sword overhead. Hordak had a second to admire the sleekness of the blue steel and wonder at the hieroglyphics on its broad fuller.

Then, all at once, the warrior surged forward to attack. Hordak lurched away, hand snatching at the alarm button on his belt.

* * *

  
  


She-Ra felt it at first as a tug at the back of her mind that pulled her face skyward to stare at the restless storm clouds. She was briefly aware of someone asking her if she was alright before a flicker in the sky, like a long thread of gold snaking down between the thunderbolts and heading straight for her.

It vanished and then the images came on like the charge of a heavy cavalry wing.

Dozens of women loomed over her, watching through beaked headdresses which mantled their shoulders in feathers. Owls, shrikes, harriers, vultures, falcons, and eagles. They raised their hands and rattled strange bone jewelry as they cried out in one, piercing voice. From their midst stepped a figure. A teenaged girl with umber skin and hazel eyes that looked on Adora with scared determination. The girl reached out a hand, setting her teeth together sternly. Lightning burst behind her and engulfed her, the bird-headed women, and Adora. The wordless cry of the women broke into ecstatic celebration. 

Adora felt herself moving through a soupy fog of memories.

She braced against a wall of stones that rubbed against her like a stirring animal. Beyond it the river rammed itself against her strength and the wall cracked to spew little streams of water down onto her shoulders. In the distance of a forested valley, a flaming arrow arced above pine trees sagging with heavy rain. She heaved a tired sigh and felt no fear as the wall burst and the river swept her away. The tribe was safe. She was content.

Thunder rolled in her ears.

A youth with a red mohawk slowly drew gray paint across his face, highlighting his cheek-bones and the ridges of his eye sockets. He glared at Adora and thrust his hand out with a snarl. 

Flashes of life and war and power.

A distant twilight sky jumped up and down as she raced towards the edge of a red mesa. Even, effortless breaths filled her with anticipation and she threw herself like a diver over the edge of the world. Below her, seemingly by miles, spread endless desert, ripped with canyons wider than Lake Bright-Moon and long enough to lose track of over the horizons.

Winged beasts did battle in the low clouds, setting some on fire with breaths of flame. They had reptilian bodies of every color. On either hand more of them dived from the mesa, following her into combat miles above the ground. She laughed against the screaming air current shoving back on her.

“Adora!” Someone cried out.

A child was staring at her. Her heart melted at the sight of him. A one-year old, tiny-limbed and wide-eyed. He sucked his thumb and rubbed at one blue eye with his fist, then reached out to her.

 _Sure,_ she thought, _come here, little one._ She wanted to hug him, if she could only move her arms. Lightning flashed once more and she felt herself shrinking, changing, and then there was cool metal under her fingers. And, for the first time since she was seven, she felt herself sucking her thumb.

“Adora?” Glimmer asked. Adora blinked away the last images and realized she dropped her sword to the ground a few steps back . She spent longer than she should have standing there with her giant thumb in her mouth, before she withdrew it and held it up to the sky.

“Yeah,” she said with a rictus grin, “wind is definitely coming in from the north-east! Good to know. Let’s get to Dryl!” She ignored all questions and went to retrieve her sword. She hesitated for a moment before taking the gold hilt into her calloused palm.

“By…I mean,” she blinked as her mind jumbled for a moment, “For the Honor of Grayskull!” She-Ra shook her head, long golden hair flowing along her back. She soothed the Adora part of her that was trying desperately to not to freak-out. They could resolve it when they had secured Princess Entrapta’s aid for the Rebellion. The mission always came first. 

* * *

  
  


Catra dreamed she was still in that clearing in Plumeria, wrapped in a blanket woven from golden sword lilies. Adora was huddled next to her underneath it, chatting about something. Catra rarely paid full attention when Adora talked. She didn’t care. She didn’t care what her oldest friend was saying. 

She just cared that they were together. 

Adora giggled and cupped a hand over one of her feline ears. Catra leaned in, snickering at how her breath tickled. The voice came from Adora, but they sounded like Scorpia’s words.

“I knew I’d find you here,” it teased. Catra pressed herself into the space of Adora’s arms and captured one of her hands. She pressed into her scalp and Adora took to stroking her like she used to when everything was normal.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I wanted to see you sooner.” Adora laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Catra purred. Adora never laughed for any reason other than sheer, dopey delight. Usually delight taken from something simple, and dumb, and beautiful. A hand lifted her head gently by the chin. The soldiers from her detachment were looking on at them with expectant, happy smiles. 

“Wha?” Catra said, cheeks burning. She almost pulled away but Adora held her there with a gentle grip. Adora had always been so careful not to hurt her. 

“Didn’t expect you to come back,” Adora explained, in Lonnie’s voice, as Catra took in her detachment, plus a few smiling Plumerians. The old man and his daughter stood at the head of them, bowing with big grins and tearful eyes.

They’d stay together. For an instant Catra had held their lives in her palm and let them have their happiness a day longer. The idea calmed and confused her at once.

Adora whispered again. This time in the old man’s soft, shocked voice. Catra mumbled as a poke from the tip of Adora’s nose made her ear twitch.

“You show rare honor,” she stopped to give one of her trademark snort-and-giggles, like she was trying to tell a dirty joke. “Universe bless you for this act of mercy.”

“I’ve been really stupid,” Catra whispered, watching the regiment salute her. 

“Catra, I want to tell you something,” Adora said to her, this time in her own voice. Catra turned and watched her friend’s face grow into a grin. Her gun-metal blue eyes twinkled and the ponytail on her head glowed a soft wheat with the evening light. She opened her mouth and loud, klaxon noise burst out of it. 

Catra jolted from her bed and her claws, gripping at her sheets, ripped away long strips of cloth. Her eyes were assaulted with flashing red light and the alarm droned on in her ears, blotting out the rest of the world.

A second later the lights switched off and the siren whined pitifully into silence. Catra stumbled free of her bed and slammed heavily into her door. Biting back a scream of anger she waved her hand over the keypad to no avail.

“Come on,” she snarled, thumping the steel with her fist, “Hey! Anybody out there? The door’s stuck!” Red light bloomed again, the alarms stabbed her sensitive ears, and she fell through the door as it shot open. A wall of muscle caught her and wrapped her in enormous biceps.

“Catra!” Scorpia’s voice was caught between relieved and scared stupid. “Oh, thank goodness! What’s going on?!” Catra wriggled free and broke off into a run down the hallway, Scorpia following close behind. The lights and alarms cut off again, plunging them into eerie, lightless silence.

“How would I know that,” Catra snapped. Scorpia heaved a big sigh of relief when they emerged from the tight corridors out onto the balconies above main roadways. Below, patrolling troopers had lit up their helmet-lights. A sergeant was barking at everyone in earshot.

“Keep it together, jarheads. If you got a light, lead the way. If you got night-gear on report to your commanding officers. If you can see in the dark, same thing. Everybody else follow the lights to the nearest armory! Come on, mudsuckers, let’s win one for the Fright Zone!”

“We’re under attack,” Scorpia hissed frantically. Catra, who’s own eyes were giving her twice the view of anybody nearby, began to search the sky for some sign.

“He doesn’t actually know,” Catra said, “he’s just saying that so nobody loses it.” She grinned at a thin crown of red light above the nearest rooftops. Her own basic curiosity, along with two decades of rigorous emergency-response training, pushed up onto the railing and she sprung through the open air onto a network of pipes she’d been climbing since she was four.

“What?! People are losing it?” Scorpia’s teeth were chattering as she spoke. “Then we have no idea what’s happe-…Catra?!” The magicat slid up the pipes until she was out above the warrens of the South-Western Wing. She gasped at what she saw.

The Fright Zone had gone completely dark.

Black-outs and brown-outs were so common most people barely remarked on them. The longest Catra had ever gone through was three days in one unfortunately hot summer when she was twelve. Even then there was still light somewhere. Doom Tower, the smokestack dominating the skyline, had still been lit up with flashing lights to keep air patrols from crashing into it. The great symbol of the Horde on its side had still been illuminated by gigantic, power-gobbling searchlights even when the children were sweltering in their beds.

Now, if the aligned moons hadn’t been shining so brightly, she wondered if she could’ve seen it at all. Nonetheless, the sunken valley of pipes was navigable for her, and she knew at a glance which way to go.

“Of course,” she scoffed, “of course it's those two.” From roughly where Shadow Weaver’s chambers sat, a thin vein of red lightning dipped and rose across the span of the Fright Zone rooftops all the way to the hub of the wheel. Hordak’s Tower. “Alright, I gotta see what this is about.” That was probably part of her new job description anyway, she figured.

This would serve to keep her mind off her stupid dream at the very least.

_‘I want to tell you something’. Get real, Catra. She’s said it all at this point._

“Catra?” Scorpia yelled up.

“Something’s going down in Horde Square,” she called back, “I’m going there.”

“What about back-up?”

“I’m fine alone,” she growled, almost to herself, “I don’t need help.” She sprang from rooftop to rooftop, following the flow of red magic toward Hordak’s lair.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Hordak crouched into a shadow, cursing his heavy raiment for every metal creak and the hush of his long cape. He’d been foolish. Emptying Horde Square. Sealing off his lab. Dressing-up as if Horde Prime would step through the portal and embrace him. All at once fearing the failure of his experiment while blindly trusting in its success.

Useless emotions.

It was almost too much to bear as he pressed himself flat against the wall and listened to the intruder ruin another piece of his life’s work. The Black Garnet’s energy and the portal’s light made for poor viewing of the damage, for which he was almost grateful. A metal work table glanced off the wall next him, crumpled like paper. He saw a blue flash as the sword rose and fell on through tangle of cables like a machete through vines.

He could feel his teeth almost snapping with how tightly he clenched them. Every instinct told him to fight. To throw himself at this creature and tear until one of them fell. For his own pride. For the honor of Horde Prime.

But the creature was clearly too strong. His right hand felt almost broken from when he tried to strike it, and the laser pistol he’d drawn a second later had been sliced in half, nearly taking his hand with it. He’d hid since then, like a rat avoiding a hound.

_Idiot,_ he thought, _that’s how you ended up here. Think. You are one of the Horde. You are the code of the Horde Prime. Think._ The lights flickered on and the alarms tried to blare out a warning note. Acting on pure instinct, Hordak flexed his hand on the control panel at his wrist. The great doors of his lab slid open a measly two feet before sticking in place as the Fright Zone’s energy grid collapsed again.

Yellow eyes crept down from the wall above him, the Imp had returned and - loyal as it was - awaited his orders. He glanced between the open door, the intruder, and the Imp.

_Outside? No. If I fall, at least I should fall here where no one will come to gawk at a toppled ruler struck down with his back turned. I cannot fight him. Not as I am. Patience. Remember that revenge is patient._ He leaned up to the Imp and whispered in its ear. The creature nodded and flew off, vanishing into the dark and re-appearing briefly as a shadow scuttling through the lab’s doors.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hordak’s voice thundered into the lab. There was a bear-like grunt of attention and he heard something shatter as it was kicked out of the way.

He heard the warriors steady breathing, deep as a bull’s but unhindered by exhaustion even after his tear across the lab. Hordak’s snarl twitched into a smile for the barest instant. _Get out of my lab, primitive._

He despaired for an instant when the bulky intruder was thrown into the dim light of the moons that the door permitted. He was huge and couldn’t possibly fit through the aperture. Then the creature shoved one door back with a metal screech and sidled through. Hordak stepped out of hiding and made for the manual winch to the doors side.

He grunted with effort as he wheeled it shut, meeting resistance with each agonizing turn. Outside, the intruder’s long hair spun as he turned to face the noise. Hordak grasped the winch in both hands, his right hand sent an earthquake of pain through his arm. His throat ripped with a cry of rage and he forced the metal to obey, the doors shuddered closed around two feet of blue metal, the tip hovering an inch from his side. Lord Hordak smirked. 

The lights came on after that and the door shivered as it tried to shut automatically. Hordak snorted angrily. His wrist communicator beeped.

“-coming over the gates now. Do you copy? I mean,” the voice said quickly, “do you copy... my lord?” The rasp was familiar enough to remind him of the right name.

“Force Captain Catra,” he growled, “an intruder to the Fright Zone is at my door. Deal with them.”

“What-“ the com-channel became static once again as the lights shut off. That was fine, he’d finished speaking. He limped away and activated a light on the left palm of his suit. He scanned the lab, face tightening with every revealed act of vandalism. He wasn’t even happy to see that the one machine he needed remained undamaged. It wasn’t finished. It wasn’t near ready for use.

The sword jostled in place behind his back. He reminded himself, again, that revenge was patient. He could focus on it rather than the failure of his portal. It mocked him still with its vortex of potential. The thought that if he’d simply made a back-up bot he could have his freedom even now burned through him like acid.

_Pointless,_ he thought, setting about his work, _regret is another pointless thing. You don’t deserve freedom yet. If you did you would’ve planned around this. Secure the Fright Zone. End this threat. Then return to the war. For the Horde._

“You are going to die here tonight,” he said to the thin slit of light around the sword, “I want you to know that. For this affront to the Horde I will accept nothing less. Do yourself a kindness and go seek your doom at the hands of my soldiers. They will be far more merciful than I.”

He marched towards the three standing towers he needed to finish and paused when the doors whined. He turned, unbelieving, to see the sword slowly prying the doors open. It was a slow pace but given that this should’ve been impossible, that fact gave Hordak little reassurance.

_No emotions,_ he thought, _fight and survive._ He could at least die like a brother of Horde Prime should; with his enemy destroyed along with him.

* * *

  
  
  


Catra hopped the last ten feet to the concrete parade grounds of Horde Square. She tapped her badge with a snarl.

“Answer me…my lord,” she growled, “I’m here! What’s this about an intruder?” Her fur was still tingling from how closely she’d followed the Black Garnet’s magic. She wanted to fight something. That need fought with her burning curiosity to a stalemate.

An intruder had made it to Lord Hordak’s lab undetected. That made less than zero sense. Nobody could have gotten to the heart of the Horde itself without passing through some kind of resistance.

She crept into the pitch-black square, aware of the four titanic steel gates that shut her off from any kind of aid. The great stone teeth of the valley the Fright Zone sat in nearly blotted out the light of the moon’s. She had advantage in sight at least, provided the intruder couldn’t see in the dark. Her eyes were drawn up to the top of the stone stairwell into Hordak’s throne room.

A line of flickering light pointed down to a blonde figure that made her heart stop. Catra felt the hungry grin spreading across her face and purred dangerously. She tensed, ears cocking for the creak of a bow-string or the snap of sparkling energy before she spoke. Her claws slid out to full length, scratching lightly on her crossed arms.

“I was just thinking about you,” she called out. The words bounced around the empty square a half-dozen times, mocking and mirthful. The figure paused and turned its head over one muscled shoulder. Adora was in silhouette but Catra could tell she was wearing the form of She-Ra.

“Was this her plan?” Catra snorted to herself. “Shadow Weaver’s big idea was to bring Adora crashing into Hordak’s front door?” She watched the figure turn fully to her and raised her voice. “Well, it doesn’t matter now does it, ‘She-Ra’? Cuz I get to take you apart right here and let Lord Hordak watch me…that might actually be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. What a nice surprise.”

Adora stared at her, unmoving. A chill ran up her spine and she didn’t quite know why. She buried it in a growl.

“Hey,” she snapped, “that tiara slipped down around your ears?” Adora said nothing. The chill came back and spread to her tail, poofing it up. Adora was never this quiet. “Get down here. Unless you’re scared. Are you scared?” Much better.

There was a sudden metallic scraping as Adora slid her sword out from between Lord Hordak’s doors. The blade described a line of sparks as it scraped free. The harsh noise bounced around Catra like it was trying to pen her in . Catra lowered her arms to her sides, claws up, ready for battle and slid one foot back in preparation to spring. If Adora came running down the stairs at her, she’d be ready to pounce. Adora moved suddenly and Catra thought for an instant that she disappeared into thin air. 

Then a shadow crossed the moons.

Catra started, amazed, as the leaping figure hung there for a moment, framed between the dead lampposts. Then the Fright Zone’s power returned and the lights flickered like a camera flash, blinding her. She shrieked and pressed her palms over her sensitive eyes. Her cheeks flushed at the way her voice cracked. A tremor five yards in front of her nearly made her fall over.

“O-oh,” she stammered, “I bet you’re enjoying this, huh? Well, we both know you’re not gonna take advantage. Not you. Gotta keep your victories clean, right, mighty She-Ra?”

Heavy footfalls came closer and closer, Catra backed away, trying to tamp down her panic. She couldn’t see and it was her own stupid fault. Dumb way to lose a fight. She chatted to cover her weakness as she blinked away spots. 

“Find your way in ok? It’s awful dark. Remember when Shadow Weaver told you that story about the Pookahs on Beast Island? And how you couldn’t sleep?” The footfalls stopped and Catra grinned. Poor, predictable Adora. Sentimental as ever. She could play it up until her eyes adjusted.

“Yeah,” she purred, “and you begged me to sleep in your bed? Remember how you _begged_ for my help, Adora?” No answer. Not a hint of reaction. That hurt more than she expected. “Of course not. You’ve forgotten more important things than that, haven’t you?” Her hackles rose and she began to stalk forward.

“You should never have come back here,” she snarled, “even for you, this was a stupid move. Where’s your two sidekicks, huh? Too afraid to come with you?” Nothing. Not a word of defence for her ‘best friends’. “Hey! I’m talking to you, Adora, say something!” Resolute silence.

“Ok, you better just drop this whole cold-shoulder act because you aren’t fooling me! I know you, Adora, better than anyone. Better than _you know yourself._ You’re not scaring anyone just because you were stupid enough to come alone. Being quiet doesn’t make you scary! An extra two little feet of height and that dumb sword doesn’t make you scary!” Catra got up in her face, close enough to feel the even breaths and see blue eyes watching her through long hair. In a moment her vision would clear enough to see the wings of her tiara. 

_Keep talking, Catra. Keep her focused._

“I know who you are, Adora,” Catra whispered, her eyes were finally adapting to the dark again, “we’re best friends, remember? _Forever and ever_... I know who-” Catra stopped in her tracks as her smile fell. The eyes that watched her were the right color of blue, but they were cold and pitiless. Adora had never looked at Catra and showed her emptiness. 

The figure stepped forward and Catra scrambled backwards, almost tripping over her own feet. The lights flared to life once again and she felt her heart plop into her stomach.

“Who are you?” She heard herself whisper with a squeak.

Big. The person in front of her was really big. At least as big as She-Ra. There were red tattoos all over their body. And their body was a She-Ra-esque icon of muscle. On their bare chest, a red cross dared her to strike for the heart. Jagged zigzags covered their arms and legs.

The hair wasn’t quite right either. Golden, sure, but thicker, matted, and nowhere near as perfect. It was held just out of the face, hard and angular, by a thin scrap of sweat-stained gray cloth that bore hieroglyphics in red.

The rest of the outfit was equally worn and strange. Brown fur bracers on the arms that rattled with predator teeth of every size. There was a sort of loincloth and kilt of thick fur, with the top of a wolf-skull on either hip. More animal hide bound the ankles but left the toes bare. A thin brown-strap that circled their upper pectorals and right-shoulder but seemed to offer no real protection. Not that they’d need it. 

They looked, Catra realized after a moment, like a man her age but twice her size. Like She-Ra.

This wasn’t She-Ra, not _her_ She-Ra. Even the sword in his right hand looked like an off-brand of Adora’s. It was less elegant, closer to a giant slab of steel than a sword. It had no gold hilt or crossguard. And strangest of all, no runestone.

 _It’s not Adora,_ she told herself, _calm down. It’s not She-Ra._ Which was part of the problem itself. She knew Adora’s limits. She knew what Adora would do.

This one was a stranger.

The huge face leaned in and snorted. A single finger shot up and pushed her shoulder. Catra fell back five feet and gasped. The warrior tossed his blonde hair and sneered at her. 

“Weak,” he said, then turned back to the stairs and Hordak’s lab, body tensing for another high jump.

He wasn’t Adora. But as Catra watched him walk away, strange light steaming from his broad shoulders, she felt something primal roar out of her that wiped away all their differences.

“ **Don’t** ,” she yelled, “you walk away from me!” She pounced forward, all ten claws extended and raked them down his exposed back. “Eeeeugh!” She leapt back and shook her hands. Her fingertips were numb like she’d just gouged out part of a chalkboard. But at least a chalkboard, unlike the warrior’s back, would’ve shown marks. She raised her claws up to her eyes, her fingers trembling.

Filed. She’d filed her claws on his bare skin. A single blue eye glared at her with what seemed like annoyance. She squeezed her Force Captain’s badge.

“Back-up!” She said. “Back-up in Horde Square! There’s…it’s She-Ra! She-Ra is here!”

Then the lights turned off all over again, but she could feel the warrior move and she ducked low as a metal weight sang through where her head had been. He wasn’t holding back. He wasn’t Adora.

_Yikes!_ She heard metal bite deep into concrete as she scurried back. Reflexes shot her around the right side of the warrior and she swiped at him before she could rethink it. “Rrrrrgh! I hate that feeling!” She bounded back again, squeezing her left hand as the stinging numbness shot through it from her claws. The warrior grunted and retaliated.

The thing that slapped Catra between the shoulders blades of her back was shaped like an open palm. Her brain, as she sailed through the air, insisted it must’ve been a runaway skiff. She landed deftly on all fours and skidded along the ground into a tall metal lamppost, shoulder-first.

“Ow,” she squeaked quietly. The lights flickered on overhead and she caught sight of the warrior twirling his sword in one arm, cocking it backwards, and-

The lights snapped off. She threw herself flat on the ground and heard an odd shrieking sound followed by the crumbling thunk of something piercing a concrete wall. There was a sad, metal groan overhead and she froze in place, waiting for the lamppost to topple. She was blinded by strobing lights again and grimaced as the toppling groan got louder.

Metal crashed and glass shattered off to her left, making her shriek. She got her night-vision back in time to see the warrior rush towards her, his bare feet crushing glass into powder, with one giant hand outstretched.

“Weak,” the warrior huffed. A five-fingered vice clamped around her injured shoulder and lifted her up into the air over his face. Catra snarled at him and glared into his blue eyes. She flexed the claws on her right foot.

“ **Stop** saying that!” she spat, “Who are you?” Her foot flashed and the sharp points shot right for the big, pitiless blue targets staring at her. Her stomach bubbled as she connected and felt something yielded. But it did not yield nearly enough.

The warrior howled in outrage and dropped her to the floor, rubbing at his eyes like a weepy little kid. Not that Catra could quip about that. She too was busy clutching her ankle while her toes informed her that she had just, against all logic, kicked a rock.

“You two are different for sure, or Adora has seriously been holding back,” she whispered in agony. At that moment there was a heavy thud, like someone falling to the ground, back towards the gate she’d climbed over.

“Ow!” She heard a familiar voice cry out. “Oh…oh…landed right on my shins. Catra makes that look so easy.”

“Scorpia?” Catra crawled towards the voice, and more importantly away from the injured warrior. A happy gasp answered her and the second muscle-bound figure of the night rushed her.

“You’re ok,” Scorpia’s hug seemed almost feather-light after getting manhandled by Not-She-Ra, “where is she? I’ll show her to come here and mess with _our home_! Are you ok? Do you wanna talk about it?”

From the dark behind them a wind tunnel screamed angrily.

“…does Adora have some kind of a sore throat,” Scorpia croaked, “or…”

“It’s not her,” Catra said, squirming away, “it’s not Adora.” The lights flickered on once again and made that explanation far easier. Scorpia’s eyes darted all up and down their new enemy, trying to take in everything at once. After a moment she found her voice.

“So…if he’s not She-Ra, is there any chance we could maybe use our words to solve this?” The warrior’s blue eyes were shot through with angry red, like Catra’s claws did little more than irritate them. If looks could kill he would’ve wiped Catra from history.

“No,” Catra winced, rubbing her shoulder because it hurt the worst of her injuries at that moment, “I-“

“Did he hurt you?” Scorpia’s voice was dead. Then it was raised in an echoing battle-cry. “Get over here, you!”

“Scorpia!” Catra shrieked. She was too late to stop Scorpia before she slammed fully into the warrior. The results however, were far different than she anticipated. 

With a deft pressed against the back of the man’s leg, the Scorpia executed a textbook take-down. The warrior seemed too perplexed by the shift in gravity to resist as he was flipped on his stomach and both his hands were, quite literally, pincered behind his back. Catra almost laughed as she finally got some perspective on the man’s size. Scorpia was a match for him, both in muscles and height, just like Adora.

“Ok, friend,” Scorpia spat, “I consider myself a pretty even-tempered lady, but nobody just waltzes into _my_ house and attacks _my_ friends. Metaphorically speaking... The house part, not the friend part! Anyway, that’s two charges of assaulting a Force Captain, pal. Ever hear of a place called Beast-“

The warrior’s hair rustled as he threw the back of his head into Scorpia’s face. Scorpia blinked, twitched her nose, and smacked her lips curiously before spitting out some strands of blonde hair.

“I…can’t feel my face,” she said, almost dream-like. The warrior flopped like a fish, launching her from his back and springing to his feet. Scorpia shook it off and jumped to her feet to grapple him into a full-nelson. Her tail snaked out and began to lance his tattooed skin, to no effect.

“Tell me when I’m not hitting armor!” she called out. Catra’s mouth wouldn’t work.

“He’s…you’re not…this isn’t gonna work,” she mumbled. This was different. Adora hadn’t displayed this kind of raw power before and Catra couldn’t begin to understand what the cause was. Then the idea popped into her head.

_If Adora was here now…could she beat this guy?_ That question very rapidly found a home for itself in her mind and only lost her attention when the tide of battle shifted. The warrior began to flex his arms against her hold and Scorpia’s voice suddenly jumped to a high, thinstrain.

“Oooooooooh, boy! Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy! Catra,” she creaked out, “this guy is strong.”

“Y-yeah,” Catra gulped, the warrior glare was fixed on her.

“Like, really strong,” Scorpia squeaked, her body trembling against the push, “magic-strong! Like not muscles, muscles don’t work this way!”

“I noticed,” Catra said.

“No…I think you’re not…he’s really quite the wrangler!”

The warrior slipped free and elbowed her hard in the chest.

“Okay,” she croaked, dropping flat onto her back and going motionless. Catra’s eyes slipped to the left and saw the sword protruding from a far wall. If it could cut stone and steel so easily, it might be her only option. The warrior advanced towards her and she locked eyes with him. She shot forward claws out and watched the big man smirk happily at the challenge. He rushed to meet her.

She tensed her legs and sprang into a somersault, relishing the look of growing wonder in the warrior’s eyes as she spiraled over his head. When she’d landed on all fours, she took off running. The warrior gave chase. The sword gleamed with an inner light.

She slid to a stop, both hands clasping over the hilt of the sword, her climber’s calluses rubbing over the thick leather covering. She grinned at the sudden consternation on her foe’s face. She yanked.

Her shoulder screamed and the sword budged not an inch.

_No. No it has to work. It has to! Adora’s sword isn’t…isn’t…this isn’t Adora’s sword._ The warrior grinned wickedly. Catra charged him again, waited for him tense, and dodged to the side. His tattooed forearm shot out at the last second and caught her around the middle like a steam-pipe. 

The air smacked out of her lungs and she caught her breath after her face had been shoved into his armpit. She voice muffled curses, promises of revenge, and, sooner than she wanted to admit, pleas.

“Wait,” she said when her head slipped free, “w-wait a second, ok? We-we don’t have to keep doing this! We can-” The warrior’s free hand slid his sword free like it was skewered in butter. Concrete dust puffed into the air and shot smalls stones around their feet. Catra yelped as the ground suddenly caught her whole body. A bare sole pressed lightly on her injured shoulder. “Just…. wait!”

The blue-blade tacked loudly on the ground so close to her head that she fogged up her wide-eyed reflection with her short, scared breaths.

“Please, listen to me,” she fought anew as the sword rose, “who are you?! Where’d you come from?! If you want something, let's cut a deal!” She wrestled under his impossibly strength enough to turn her eye up to meet his. Spotting the sword in his hand, she considered her poor choice of words and suddenly felt sick.

The warrior leaned down and considered her.

“Weak,” he answered. The sword raised high, Catra bit back a sob of fear and dug her nails into his thigh with a final, thunderous battle-scream.

“Agh!” The stranger’s deep voice cried out suddenly. Catra felt the sensation of yielding flesh and warm, wet liquid trickle across her palm. Copper filled her nose. As one, Catra and her enemy stared at the five cuts she’d dug into his thigh.

Catra’s eye searched in every direction, trying to find the change, but she didn’t see anything different. Except, perhaps, that in the sky, far from their fight, the moons of Etheria had slipped back out of alignment.

She connected the dots quickly and ripped her claws free. Shock, more than agony, made the warrior cry out. He wobbled on one foot as Catra spun to her feet, sweeping his other leg from under him. She gave him a sharp smile and tried to claw at his face.

He tried rearing his head away but she quickly snatched a handful of his matted hair to yank his face down to meet her rising knee. He cried out and tumbled flat on his back, blinking at the sky with disbelief. Bracing a foot on either side of him, Catra leaned down at the waist and locked eyes with him. 

“Weak,” she huffed with a wide smirk. She danced backwards as he flailed his sword at her in a reactive sweep, then leapt forward, pinning his arm against his chest. Her hand tangled in his hair again and slammed his head against the ground twice. “Weak!” she shouted this time. Something flashed in the warrior’s eyes and his foot pressed behind her leg, as Scorpia had done to him. 

Like an alligator in a death-roll he twirled them both in place, but without his unbreakable skin Catra found wriggling free easy after a few shallow swipes. He gave a parting punch at her injured foot that sent her sprawling on her stomach. Catra grimaced as she tried to stand and gasped when a foot slid under her stomach and lifted her into the air. 

He was still very strong, she deduced, as Horde Square dropped ten feet below her, then rushed up. She saw puce cloth and white hair before landing on something only slightly softer than concrete. 

“Scorpia,” she gasped, dread flooding her when the woman didn’t respond, “hey, Scorpia, wake up. He’s squishy now. We can take him!” Her foot was throbbing in pain, she couldn’t stand yet.

She heard a snarl growing closer with the limping thud of huge feet. She spared a glance up.

He was coming closer and he looked less than happy. One hand clutched at his wounded leg then drifted to a dozen other injuries with each movement, the other raised the sword up, ready to swing down when he got there. Catra’s foot buckled under her and every other wound joined in as she flopped back on Scorpia’s chest.

“Scorpia,” she hissed, “come on, please! Wake up!” The warrior was almost on them. They’d both be skewered in a second. She squirmed away, stomach bumping over one of Scorpia’s claws She shouted. The nearest lamppost taunted her with the short distance she’d have to crawl to get to her feet. 

_Scorpia,_ the thought froze her in place, _if she doesn’t wake up before he makes it over here...._

“Hey. H-hey! You want some more?” she shouted over her shoulder. “I’m gonna-Aaaaaaah!”

A bear-trap closed around her ankle and dragged her backward. She found herself in almost the same spot she’d been in a moment before, but her arms were pinned this time. She glanced up and managed a nervous laugh at the caution in the man’s eyes.

“You scared, big guy? Of little old me?” She cackled, voice frail. “I bet I’m the first one who ever tagged you, right? Seems like it.” The sword rose again, then something long and red whipped through the air so quickly the warrior had to blink. Catra noticed the thin red line across his forearm first and then the warrior was swaying in place, before he toppled like a felled tree.

The sword clattered away from his limp hand. 

The claw under Catra moved and before she knew it, she was snuggled against a broad chest. A breath rattled out of it.

“Venom, wildcat,” Scorpia coughed, “not sugar-water.” Catra found herself laughing in relief.

“I got you,” Scorpia wheezed, “I got you, Catra.” The magicat blinked and stared up into Scorpia’s honest face. She looked beat five different ways but there was still that annoying, I-am-your-friend-whether-you-like-it-or-not twinkle in her half-opened eyes. “I got your back.” 

Catra’s heart fluttered a little.

“About time,” she muttered, sinking her face into Scorpia’s shirt, purely to rest, “you…you scared me.” A claw patted her back. Next to them, the warrior lay motionless.

“Yeah, I think he killed me... for like a second,” Scorpia whispered, a grin cracking through her pain, “you’re pretty brave, you know that? Trying to protect me from him even when you’re hurt. Thanks.” Catra rolled her eyes and denied the blush that brought to her face.

“You idiot,” she said, cheek pressing against her ‘friend’ or whatever Scorpia called herself, her foot still hurt too much to stand, “you could have broken your legs dropping in here earlier. Why do I always end up with…I mean, end up _near_ the stupid ‘save-everyone’ types?”

“Must be something about your personality…oh, you’re kidding me.” The warrior grunted and sat up, eyes wide and alarmed. “Please…just…can we, like, maybe take a water break or something, guy?”

Catra rolled out of Scorpia’s arms and crouched, ready to pounce. The warrior seemed less than interested in her now, though. He clawed away from them both, grunting with effort.

He pushed himself up and then his left arm buckled. Forcing himself to sit up, he jammed his lips against the cut, sucking at it and spitting out red gobs of spit. Scorpia honked an exhausted laugh.

“That only works in the movies, buddy,” she teased, “don’t fight it. Just riiide the wave and let it take you places. It’ll be a long… uh… boat ride? Something that fits that metaphor. Me? I’m fitting fight…I mean fitting fit-ooooooogh!” Scorpia had tried to sit up, made a nauseous sound, and flopped back to the floor. “No. No I am not. Vertical’s not happening. Mama’s gotta stay horizontal for now.”

The warrior’s left arm went limp again and his legs followed, splashing him to the concrete. Catra crept over Scorpia, curious and not a little smug. The warrior’s right arm snapped out in search of his sword, forgotten just nearby.

“No you don’t!” Catra vaulted him and grabbed the blade, dragging the heavy weapon away with a little snicker. “You don’t get this back. You had your chance. We beat you.”

“Kinda did,” Scorpia coughed, “didn’t we? We’re pretty…sleepy. Hey, Catra, I’m gonna pass out now I think. You got him?” She was out before Catra could answer her.

“Oh, he’s gonna be no problem,” Catra spun the sword like a bottle and plopped herself on top of it. “Come on,” she cooed at the warrior, “just wiggle a _little_ closer! It’s like you don’t want it back!” A look of horror crossed the man’s face.

“N-no,” he whispered. Then, to Catra’s stupefaction, he was suddenly bathed in white light. She scrambled back, nearly nicking herself on the sword’s edge. Her fur stood on end all over as the familiar tingle of magic washed over her.

Then Catra began to laugh.

She recognized it. The white light and the slowly shifting shape within it. He wasn’t Adora. But they were more alike than she’d realized. Her laughter rose in pitch until it rang around the empty square like a dozen throats were giving voice to it. 

“Bad news, big guy,” she hissed, “I’m the one person this won’t impress. Most people probably would say: ‘What’s this?’ ‘How’d you do that?’ ‘Wanna abandon your best friend to be a tool for a stupid rebellion?’ Me? I know what this is. And I know you’re only just starting to feel the hurt.” The lights burst again overhead and the red line of magic evaporated from the sky. But Catra only had eyes for the form under her. She reached into it and dug her fingers into bristly clothing that hadn’t been there before.

She yanked the warrior up, waiting for the transformation to change.

“Lemme see your face,” she whispered, “before I really start to mess it up. You’re not Adora…but I’ll close my eyes and pretend you are.”

The body shrank… shrank… and kept shrinking. The figure in her hands gasped.

“Ah!” His voice was high and little. He was dressed in a long, hooded-tunic made from the hide of some kind of purple-furred animal. The hood was up and hid his face except for a trembling mouth and long waves of hair that tickled the backs of Catra’s hands.

Her anger left her, wonder taking its place. He was so small.

“You’re…” she said, leaning forward, “you’re!” She craned her neck down, trying to see under the tunic’s hood. A pair of cornflower-blue eyes bugged at her when she pressed her face near his. “You’re just a little kid!”

The child drew back, as if to nod, and drove his forehead straight into her nose. 


	5. The Dark Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver uses captured power from the Alignment to enact a dark, forbidden ritual. Catra finally receives some back-up, but not much of it is wanted or welcome.

A Note from the Author:

**Black Lives Matter,** **now and always.**

If you plan to go outside, please stay safe and remember to practice virus safety as much as you can. 

‘We must be strong,

We must be brave,

We have the power.’

* * *

  
  
  


Shadow Weaver did not need light to see by anymore, but as she pulled herself from the gauzy half-coma the alignment left her in, even she found the room too dark for her liking. The Black Garnet glowed a dim, crimson-pink as it slowly began to refill itself with power from the planet’s core. It would be days before it returned to a quarter of its normal strength.

“Oh,” the rasp of her own voice startled her, “oh, I am quite tired after that.” She felt herself sliding back into soft, inviting oblivion of sleep when a jagged edge bit into her palm. She sat up, head spinning and pounding all at once, and held out her sliver of runestone in one hand. Her eyes stared back at her from the shard a soft white beneath a steadily blinking red.

“Ahhhh,” she breathed as she saw the jewel in her mask throbbing, “but I still have work to do.” She rose to her full height, brushing strands of limp hair out of her face. The inside of her mask was suffocating and she felt along the Black Garnet like a blind woman until she stumbled into her scrying basin.

She scoffed at herself when, after slipping her mask off, her exhausted fingers let it tumble to the floor. She had no spare energy to retrieve it. Her hand dipped into cool water and laddled it up to her face, feeling it snake down her scarring and wet her shrunken lips. The relief was small and fleeting. 

“The Spell of Obtainment,” she muttered to herself as she collected her thoughts, “an exchange. Something for something. But with this power.” She found her strength and raised her right hand, the shard held like a dagger. “I need only take what I want.”

Facing the Black Garnet, Shadow Weaver stabbed forward and laughed triumphantly when the edge caught on empty air. The resistance she met was unlike anything physical, more like a magnet repelling its own pole. Her gem flared and the stolen power of the alignment flooded through her body.

“More,” she said, “not enough. Come to me. Give me your strength, I command you!” From every corner of the Fright Zone red-eyed shadows raced to their mistress and threw themselves screaming into her. Their small, twisted lives winked out one-by-one to feed the growing furnace that was Shadow Weaver.

The shard pressed and began to drag a line down through the air, defined by the dim light of the Black Garnet beyond it.

_Like cutting sail-cloth with a paper knife,_ she thought.

“Can you see this, Norwyn,” she said, pressing both hands onto the blade, feeling the edges sinking into her palms, “is your ghost still there, behind my shoulder? Waiting to teach me the folly of this act? ‘Limitations wake us from the dark dream of power.” She laughed, sheer mad joy piercing her voice. “Behold, teacher, a dark dream made real!” She pulled downwards with the dual strength of runestone and dark, unnamable powers.

A long tear opened into the space beyond the dimensions.

If she could’ve dug through the bottom of the blackest sea and found a cave that had never known light, Shadow Weaver knew that place would still be like an open field at daybreak compared to darkness she looked on now. In her hands the shard of the Black Garnet splintered into a trillion microscopic pieces, eroded away by the touch of otherworldly shadows.

The darkness felt her and she felt it. She reached out with her mind and tugged at it.

“It’s alright,” she said, like a mother soothing a frightened baby, “its alright, dear little thing. Come here. Let me see you.” The line of darkness expanded against the Black Garnet, becoming a shape as nebulous and billowing as a figure in a midnight-black cloak.

Then, as if the runestone behind it were burning through, two circles of red light appeared at level with Shadow Weaver’s eyes. They grew, then deepened, and at last burned a neon-red. Two pinpricks of that impossible darkness it emerged from slid around in the middle like pupils. It took in its new world with rapid, scared glances.

“Shhhhh,” Shadow Weaver’s hands rose up to either side of its form, beneath its eyes, slim trickles of blood dripping from either palm, “shhhh. Do not be scared, my child, I am here for you. I am Shadow Weaver and I am everything you have.”

The eyes floated forwards and the dark shape of the body followed afterwards, pressing against her in an embrace like a deep, bone-freezing chill. Her hands carded through roiling shadows and soothed the mind that, in essence, was also the ghostly body of the creature.

“You are very special, child,” she whispered, “I can state with confidence you are utterly unique. And you are mine. My dearest thing. Look at how beautiful, how perfect you are. Mind and shadow and fear. I am so proud of you.” She felt the deep connection form between them, summoner and summoned. Artist and artwork.

“Dreamer,” she said, “and Dark Dream.” She passed on the memories of Adora that never left her mind and all the knowledge of her new powers. The Dark Dream absorbed it all like it had always known and began to feel across the room as it understood its place and purpose in the world.

“Find Adora,” Shadow Weaver said, suddenly drained, “find my Adora and bring her home.”

She slumped forward against the water basin and fell to the ground, staring up at the red eyes overhead. Dark Dream expanded like a great vulture spreading its wings. She groped around and felt her fingertips brush red heartwood in the shape of a face. She donned her mask.

“As for the others,” her voice returned to her, “ _flay their minds._ Expose their deepest fears and leave them paralyzed. That is what you are, Dark Dream. That is why I made you.” The red eyes glittered eagerly and then vanished. It had, in an instance, found a slim hole in the steel walls and squirmed its shifting body out like an octopus.

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver sighed, “the things I do for you.” She thought of the little girl staring with wonder at every page of her Primer. Such potential. Such possibility. “But it is worth it, my Adora. It is worth it in the end. I’ll make sure of that.” She collapsed back into an empty, dreamless sleep.

  
  
  
  


Catra curled up on the concrete of Horde Square, the sword’s cold metal freezing on her bare shoulders, and cupped her nose in both hands. Her palms sealed against her nostrils, waiting for the gush of blood that _had_ to be coming after that. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth ground together against a long moan of pain. She yelled to keep from whimpering.

“You,” she winced at the high, nasally tone of her voice, “little…arrrrgh!” There was a grunt of effort from the child and she felt the sword shifting underneath of her back. The hilt-end rose a few inches off the ground. A scratchy, dry little voice babbled rapidly.

“B-by the Power of Gray-“ she could guess how the phrase would end and acted quickly.

“No!” Catra shoved her heels against the boy’s shoulders and felt the sword rip free of his grip. She rolled over, wrenched her eyes open and crouched over the handle. The kid stumbled backwards with a gasp, barely keeping on his feet as he held his hands up like claws.

“Grrrrr!” The sound he produced struck Catra with confusion rather than terror. He sounded parched. She rubbed her forearm under her nose and was happy to find that, whatever else was happening, her nose wasn’t bleeding.

“I know how this works,” she snarled, “so just forget about turning back into She-Ra or whatever that big guy was!” 

“Hssssss!” The boy scurried backwards almost a yard, bare feet slapping on the concrete, and bared his teeth. Catra’s night-vision showed her the tiny body a few feet away. She found him to be rather puny, with arms and legs like sticks poking out of his bulky tunic. She had at least a foot or more on him.

“This is so weird,” she muttered, “now tell me. What’s your magic words? They’re different than hers, aren’t they?” She glanced away from him and over at Scropia, still out cold nearby. Catra turned a smirk on the boy. “Same results though, looks like. So, booger, what are they? And who are you anyway? What’s your name?”

The boy growled again, a low crackly noise. Catra crooked one clawed finger at him and stared into the shadows of his hood.

“Come here,” she said frowning when she wasn’t obeyed, “don't make me come over there and get you, kid. Come here!” She jabbed her finger at the ground in front of her.

“Hsssss,” the boy replied. Catra stalked forward on her hands and knees, keeping level with his face, constantly aware of the sword’s position behind her. She let a growl rumble up from her throat, smirking at the little whimper she heard in response.

“Word of advice,” she said softly, wiggling her ears, “that doesn’t work on someone who knows you’re just trying to be scary. I can hear the bones on that tunic of yours rattling. Now mellow out!” She crept closer. “Just... come here and don’t make me angry. I wanna see something.”

“Ah,” the boy jumped backwards and darted past her side, rushing to get to the sword. Catra sheathed her claws and snatched her fingers around his tiny bicep, holding him in place. She looked over the spot where Scorpia’s stinger had, on the warrior, struck its potent blow.

“Not a scratch on you,” Catra said, “that’s-“

His free hand punched her in the forehead and he yelped in pain. She grabbed his other wrist and looked over his knuckles. There was a bruise from her mask. She grinned.

“…that’s very interesting.” She rolled her eyes as the boy tried to throw himself backwards and ended up sliding onto his back. “You really don’t get it do you, d-oooff!” One of his feet planted itself in her unprotected stomach. She locked her fingers tight on his arms and pulled him to his feet. “ **Stop** . **It**.” She shook him. “Right now!”

The boy wouldn’t stop squirming and her patience was wearing to the thinnest thread. Her nose twitched and she felt a pang of nausea.

“Yuck,” she grimaced, “you really stink! Where’d you come from?” The boy didn’t appear to hear her question.

“Rrrrrgh! No! Ah!” He kicked out and flexed his arms against her hands. She considered her option and suddenly released him. He barked in surprise as he staggered backwards and fell onto his rear. His head whipped back and his hood slipped from his head. 

Catra leaned forward to get a good look at his face and felt her heart stop when he looked her in the eyes.

_“Found you! Found you! I finally found Catra!” The ten-year-old sang, jumping up and down triumphantly, blonde ponytail wagging like the tail of an excited puppy._

_“Only cuz I let you, Adora,” Catra grumbled, “you’re such a baby you’d probably start crying if I hid too well.” Adora’s eyes looked especially blue in the darkness of the broom closet she’d been hiding in. Big and wide in her little round face._

“You’re…” Catra shook her head, she was seeing things, “you’re…uuh… a little mess, huh?” His hair was almost black with grime and his face was thinner than Adora’s had been at his age. _They look nothing alike. Same kind-of eye color, that’s all._ Her distraction cost her. 

“Rawr!” His tunic’s bristly fur scraped on her clothing as he slammed into her not doing any damage but knocking her clear from his sword.. 

He dove forward into the space she left and wrapped his hands around the hilt.

“By the Power Of Grayskull!”

Catra somersaulted backwards to safety, claws popping out and legs tensing to spring. The boy had a nervous, uncertain look in his eyes that almost gave her pause. He seemed like he was almost reluctant to engage in combat. Almost.

They both poised to fight, waiting for the transformation.

And waiting.

Waiting.

Catra slowly relaxed her stance, rising to her full height.

“By the Power of the Grayskull!” The boy’s oddly toned voice bounced around the empty square, its desperation echoing several times before fading away. Catra braced again, but with less caution.

Nothing. No light. No heat. No magic pouring down from the sky.

“B-by the p-power of Grayskull,” the boy said. His cornflower-blue eyes started growing wider and Catra heard the bones on his tunic start clicking rapidly against each other as he trembled. “By the power of Grayskull!”

Catra took a step forward. The boy squeaked and backed away, draggin the sword across the concrete with an ear-splitting scrape.

“By…by the Power,” he huffed, “of Grayskull!” He swallowed audibly when Catra answered with a little snicker.

Catra crossed her arms and walked forward slowly. She became aware of all the aches and pains in her body that the little boy had inflicted on her. She thought of the desperate, humiliating pleas for mercy that had passed her proud lips. She thought about how scared she’d been a few short minutes ago, when the warrior had seemed unstoppable. 

“Aww. What’s wrong,” she cooed, “sword not working? Real shame. Guess you regret shooting your mouth off, huh?”

“By…by the power of Grayskull?” The boy’s voice shrank to whimper as he retreated another few steps. Catra closed the distance, cocking her hip lazily, bare toes an inch from the tip of the long blade. “B-by…”the boy mumbled, eyes shivering as they looked at her, “the-the-the Power…of…by the Power of….” His voice cut off in a sharp, shaky gasp. 

“You tried to kill me,” Catra’s grin betrayed the tone of her voice, which was dead and furious, “that wasn’t very nice. How do _you_ like being helpless, kid? I could do _whatever I want_ and you couldn’t stop me.” She walked forward onto the blade, her weight pulling it from the boy’s slack grip. He shrieked and yanked his hood down over his face.

  
  


Far and away, in a guest room of the Crypto Castle, Adora tossed and turned in her sleep. Catra was haunting her dreams again and Adora seemed to have shrunk two feet. She pulled a heavy cloth over her face but couldn’t block out Catra’s stabbing words.

“Not so tough without your magic, huh? Poor thing. Yea. You look a little ‘weak’ to me,” Catra lunged forward by inches and spat in her face, “weak!” Adora jumped when she yelled. “Look at me. Right now!” 

“Nooooo,” she moaned in her sleep, “Catra, please….” A golden thread shimmered before her eyes.

  
  


The Dark Dream ruled the night sky and all the sleepers below it, its subjects in a kingdom of nightmares, groaned in their sweat-soaked beds. Every dream soured and turned rotten as the barest fringes of its essence caressed them. Dark Dream found itself relishing this new world and the many tastes of fear it could savor. 

Below, invisible to all but magical beings, a golden thread blinked over the horizon. It dripped with fear and Dark Dream was drawn to it like a fly to honey. It hissed with delight when it supped on the terror and found its quarry. Adora. Little Adora. It spun in place growing from a small, flea-sized shadow until it was like a second night sky. It flew back towards its birthplace following the thread of fear down into the Fright Zone. 

  
  


Catra crouched down, a growl building in her throat at the indignity of it all. A crybaby, just like Adora. Nothing without special swords or magic words. She grabbed the front of his tunic.

“No!” He chirped. He grabbed at her wrist but wasn’t strong enough to move her. His nails were blunt and bitten down, posing no threat to her skin.

“Look at me,” she snapped, ripping back his hood, “look me in the face! Look at me when I’m-“

He cracked open one blue eye, wet with tears.

“ _Look at me,” Shadow Weaver’s voice slid from the darkness, “look at me, you little animal, when I’m speaking to you!” Catra focused on the reflection beyond the impossibly tall figure over her. Her blue eye shined in the metal of the barracks ceiling._

_Please go away, she thought, please-please-please just leave me alone! She couldn’t even remember what she’d done to get in trouble. She was too scared._

The boy’s open eye twitched and his hands left her wrist to fumble with the fangs on his tunic in a cloying, frantic way. Catra’s fist unclenched around the animal hide, her claws catching a little as she drew back. She felt her stomach tightening, probably from the kick she took earlier.

With careful, slow movements she drew the hood back up over his head. The boy’s fingers slowed as they toyed with the fangs and his breathing became a little softer as he stared at her.

“You’re lucky,” she mumbled, exhaustion roughening her voice as she backed away, “you’re so lucky it was me and not anybody else. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but security alarms drowned him out as light flooded the square. Catra snarled, clutching at her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Floodlights, emergency lights, and lampposts came back from the dead all at once. The stump of the severed lamppost shot up a few, sparks like spurts of blood. Red lights spun atop the four sealed doors on each side of Horde Square. They opened with a quartet drone of metal.

Four detachments of Horde Troopers came pouring in like so many black ants. Catra’s senses came under assault.

“Clear high! Clear high! Sky’s empty,” someone yelled, “Air-Master do not scramble, repeat do not scramble. Air-space is clear. Hotel Sierra’s airspace is clear.”

“Friendlies in the open,” another voice cried through a static filter, “trooper down! Medic to the front-line!”

“Medic to the front-line! Sully, move you stupid post. Doc! Doc, get up front!”

“Spread-out,” a sergeant roared, “spread-out. We gossiping about our crushes here, people? Why am I seeing you all bunched up? Spread-out. Circle-up.”

“Ok,” a woman huffed by Scorpia’s side, “pulse is good. Force Captain, can you hear me, ma’am?” Catra rubbed at her eyes and blinked away the spots. The kid had vanished.

“Easy! He’s got a sword,” she heard the sergeant barking again, “where’s the spearmen? Ah, here we are and so nice of you to join us. Pig-stickers in position, troopers, the Rebels aren’t already smooching the back of our necks by some kind of miracle. Chunhua, is the sky attacking us? Get that spear level with the freaking enemy!”

“He’s…he’s just a-” someone protested.

“He’s a hostile,” the sergeant spat back.

“Open up,” someone shouted from the back of the massing circle, “Force Captain’s coming up, guys, part the curtain!”

“Hey, hey sarge! Sarge, the Machine-Shop says we ain’t getting bot support right now. Everything’s fried!”

“Am I Force Captain Grizzlor, Terra? Why are you telling me? Get back to him and let him know.”

“Yes, ma’am! Force Captain!”

The kid was all but spinning in a circle, trying to get a view of everyone around him at once. Catra was crouched, thunderstruck when someone finally grabbed her shoulder.

“Catra!” She whipped around and Lonnie jumped back in surprise. Her detachment had come. Forty-four freshly promoted Cadets, none of them in armor, some of them without their boots. All of them blinking sleepily at the harsh lights of the Square.

“Ah, eyelid! You were holding my eyelid open!” Scorpia squawked.

“Force Captain, I need you to tell me if you’re seeing double,” the medic said rapidly, “are you breathing ok? Anything bleeding?”

“No…Yes…No. Why the questions-hey, where’s the fire? Scorpia said.

“Force Captain,” the medic said, Catra felt a hand in a plastic glove touch her shoulder, “I need you to look at me-”

“Don’t. Touch me.” The medic’s green eyes went wide above her stark, cloth mask when Catra whirled on her. A moment later her walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“By every moon of Etheria,” someone was shrieking, “does anyone copy? Internal triage in Harbor 14! Massive internal triage! The power cut out and we just had a fully crewed patrol boat crash into A2 dry-dock. There was a shift of engineers in there! Massive internal triage! Medical Personnel Priority 1!” 

“Part the curtain,” a trooper was screaming around them, “part the curtain, guys, Force Captains trying to get through!” Before Catra could see who was approaching, someone flanked her with a question.

“Do I have your permission to go, ma’am!” Catra blinked at being so addressed. Sweat was beading on the medic’s shaven head. “Ma’am, yes or no? I need a Force Captain’s clearance to answer calls away from this mission area.”

“Wh- Yes! Get out my face! And don-“

The medic was already a blur of black and red shoving through her soldiers. Behind her she heard the boy snarl and the sword clatter loudly.

“Just…just lay it on the ground, son, nobody wants to hurt you!”

“Mattias,” the sergeant was roaring, “you let that pig-sticker in your hands dip again, I will personally feed it to you!”

“Force Captains at the front, move it, guys!”

“Catra,” Lonnie said, “ **what** is going on?”

“Catra,” Scorpia was rising to her feet, “where’d…where’d the big guy go? Who’s…is that a little boy?”

“Everybody,” Catra roared, “just shut up! Shut your mouths or I start sending people to the Beast Island Ferry!” Horde Square went quiet as it had been when Catra was alone with the boy. Until a deep, watery voice chortled.

“Still getting in over your head, huh, little girl?” Catra growled and turned a baleful stare on the hulking figure that emerged before her. One luciferous yellow eye looked down at her and four tentacles thick as a grown man’s leg writhed behind muscled shoulders.

“Still can’t see out of your left eye?” Catra said with a smirk.

“Get some new material, kitty,” Octavia growled, “what is this thing?” She shoved past Catra and stomped up to the kid. The boy hissed and circled around to face her.

“By the Power of Grayskull!” He shouted desperately.

“What’d he just say?” A voice trying to escape a box of dimwitted rocks growled. A huge, bear-like man shoved through the line of spearmen to pen the boy in from the other side. He rested huge, hairy hands on either side of a belt-buckle emblazoned with the Horde symbol. “Where’s She-Ra?”

“Maybe this is her,” Octavia chortled, “looks like it could take you down no problem.” A chorus of laughter rose up from behind her. Catra finally took in the soldiers around her. Grizzlor flashed his enormous teeth at her and glared at the boy.

The personal detachments of two of her ‘colleagues’. Octavia’s veterans were easily distinguished by the four painted tentacles writhing along their helmets and chest-guards. Grizzlor’s rough-necks preferred drawing huge, white fangs on their helmets to make gaping green maws out of their visors.

“That’s not She-Ra,” a little tired voice piped up, “she’s taller. And more muscular. And her sword doesn’t look like-”

“She knows, Kyle, everybody does” Lonnie hissed, “just shut up, man.”

“Too much for you though, huh?” Octavia’s eye took in Catra’s injuries greedily. “Some toddler with a sword he can’t even lift. Good thing you called back-up.”

“Hey,” Scorpia said, rubbing at her sternum, “he was a seven-foot-tall warrior with unbreakable skin like three minutes ago. And yeah, he wiped the floor with Catra and I on our own, but in the end, through the power of team-work-

“Scorpia!” Catra snarled, blushing, “Shut. Up _._ ”

“Everyone’s scared of the big, bad She-Ra. I’ve never seen her. Maybe she’s made up. Could be a cover story for... shotty leadership?” Catra grinned, scratching her neck with a claw in long strokes that she made sure Octavia could see.

“Funny theory. That reminds me, you still tell people a Princess did that to your eye, Octavia? Or are _you_ trying out new material?” The Cephlapodian woman showed her a mouthful of serrated teeth and pressed on her badge.

“Lord Hordak, come in-“ she started. Catra grabbed her own badge and spoke quickly.

“Lord Hordak, Force Captain Catra here, _I_ took down the intruder as you ordered.” Octavia narrowed her eye but shrugged a moment later.

“Not gonna fight you for credit on some rat in a purple tunic anyway.” She shot a glare at the boy. “Someone take that thing from him and cuff the kid”

“He’s my prisoner,” Catra got into the other Force Captain’s face, “take your guys and get lost. I can handle this without you.”

“Not your call, little girl, we’re answering a general invasion alert. All of us are staying right here until Lord Hordak says otherwise. You’d know that if you tried learning a thing or two about that badge you’re shaming.”

“Hey,” Grizzlor was growling, “give it here, bite-sized, before I get mad.” Catra spun and hissed. The brute was stomping toward the boy with his beefy arms swinging. “Gonna smack you with that thing if you don’t hand it over!” He charged up and stomped his boot down on the flat of the blade. It snapped from the boy’s hands and he yipped, shaking his smarting fingers.

The boy stumbled backwards into the ring of soldiers and one of Grizzlor’s troops shoved him back toward Grizzlor with their foot. The boy dove to grasp his sword and tried to slip it free. Grizzlor again stomped down as soon as the blade rose, chuckling. He eased up a moment later to let him try once more. Catra was about to step in when, as the Force Captain’s foot came down, the boy’s blue eyes flashed.

He twirled the sword in his grip and Grizzlor’s mocking chuckle became an ape-like babble of fear as his thick boot stabbed itself an inch onto the razor edge. The soldiers gasped and the Force Captain fell off balance, ripping his shoe off and quickly checking his foot for injuries. Catra snorted.

“Easy, Grizzlor,” she said, “the kid’s a lot tougher than he looks.” Luckily, from Grizzlor’s perspective, nothing had been damaged other than his boot and his pride. Octavia’s soldiers rained derision on him, stomping their feet and jeering. Catra felt her stomach turn.

 _Horde Troopers. Eager to fight one minute, ready to bully the next. Scumbags._ She smirked when the boy swung his sword at the line of soldiers behind him. No one dared kick at him this time, for fear of losing their foot.

“By the Power of Grayskull!” The boy yelped. Grizzlor scooted himself back, seething angrily and glaring murder at the child.

“I’m gonna pull your little legs off for that, you freak!”

The boy dropped his sword and pounded his chest with both hands, flexing his tiny, string-bean biceps before snatching his weapon up once more. Catra smirked and pressed her badge again.

“Lord Hordak?” She said. “Come in, my lord, I got the intruder in my custody.”

“Radio Tower’s still down, girly. Hey! Mantenna!” snapped Octavia, making nearly everyone wince. With a head like an orange catfish, giant eyes like two yellow pumpkins, and four muscular legs stumbling awkwardly beneath him, the trooper saluted nervously. “Go knock on the throne room door and inform Lord Hordak we got this on lockdown.”

“Uh,” Mantenna said in a nasally drone, “me, Cap?” He glanced at Hordak’s Tower nervously, his hands working over each other with anxious movements.

“No,” Octavia rolled her eye, “the other freak-show I got the bad-luck to command. Unless _you_ wanna try taking the sword from the little monster?” Mantenna glanced at the boy and then at the sword and then at Grizzlor’s boot. He saluted with a newfound sense of certainty and left in a scurry.

“You all scared of a kid?” Octavia snickered, shooting a smirk at Grizzlor, “Huh, some surprise we lost our foothold out in the Woods. And then to a bunch of Plumerian gardeners.” She grinned at Catra. “Yea. She-Ra’s gotta be made up. With troops like these, why would the Rebellion even need something that nasty?” Catra almost took the bait but a sudden thought made her stop.

_She-Ra. Scary enough to sound like an excuse, huh? Scary enough to account for all our losses. A one-soldier army._ She smiled and then grinned wide when she looked over the sword in the boy’s trembling grip. _But if there was another She-Ra? One I had on a leash?_

“Hey, Grizzlor,” Catra said, striding in between the boy and the Force Captain with her back turned confidently to the child, “hit the showers. No more fighting.”

“Scared I’ll hurt him?” Grizzlor snarled. “He your new friend, Catra? Yeah. You need new friends now, don’t you? Maybe this one won’t turn trait-aaaaaugh!”

“You’re slow,” Catra scolded, wiggling her fingers and admiring the five red lines crossing Grizzlor’s bicep, “and I’m not in the mood. Now scram.”

“You can’t order me!” He squeaked and jumped away as Catra flashed her claws once more.

“I can,” Catra purred, “because _I’m strong_ and _you’re weak_.” She grinned over her shoulder at the boy. “You owe me, kid. Twice now. I’m keeping count.” 

“Ah?” he said, staring at her from under his hood. She was pleased he wasn’t showing hostility anymore. That was at least a start.

_Yea. I could work with this. A She-Ra to fight a She-Ra. Yeah that’d be-_

“Oh!” The boy jabbed a finger at her…no, past her!

Catra ducked a huge, brown-furred arm and punched a soft spot in the armpit.

  
  
  


“Ha!” The boy cheered. The cat-eared lady seemed totally unafraid as the bear-man limped away, grasping at his armpit and hooting like a monkey.

**She is not to be trusted! The words. I can protect you!**

“By the Power of Grayskull,” he whispered.

“Hey,” the cat-eared lady’s voice made him jump, “none of that, booger. You stay small and skinny for now, ok? It won’t work anyhow.” The boy was struck again by the surrealness of being spoken to by someone. He chewed his lip, distracted for a moment by the monumental task of understanding her and trying to wrap his head around what she wanted. 

He’d never dealt with something like her. Something that had attacked him… and stopped.

**The sword!** He blew a raspberry in protests. The Other One had been saying ‘the sword’ non-stop since the boy had emerged from hiding into the strange, empty place. Now there were more people around him than he ever thought could be in the whole world.

And not just them. The buildings! Each one dwarfed the old gray castle a dozen times over. Did that mean there were even **more** people in them? How? How could so many people be anywhere. The boy smiled, almost laughing with excitement.

There were tall metal towers in every direction, lit by strange, twinkling lights that cast an orange glow on the fringes of the night sky. The night sky…the empty night sky.

“Oooooh,” he said, feeling his heart turn to lead, “ah?” No lights. No stars. A black void lit by a few lonely moons. The stars were gone.

The stars were gone!

 _Gone._ A voice entered his mind. Whispery and sly and dripping with malice. He couldn’t understand it but it chilled him like ice. _Gone, Adora, all gone. You don’t deserve them. You bad child, you ran away from home and took up with these Rebels. Shadow Weaver loved you. Cared for you herself! How could you? How could you betray her?_ The words spoken made feelings the boy didn’t understand churn in his head. Guilt. Shame. Anger. He knew none of the names the whisper spoke, nor why they made his heart ache. 

**The sword!**

“By the Power of Grayskull!” The boy looked around, chest heaving against sobs as he found nothing above him but empty, starless darkness.

Then he saw the red lights, growing larger as they descended and the sword slipped from his paralyzed hands.

 _Gone. Gone, Adora. You know you deserve this…now, it is time to come home!_ The red lights hovered twenty feet above him and the sky grew even darker.

  
  


“I’ll get you for this…I’ll…I’ll…” Grizzlor’s voice trailed off into a whimper, “what’d…what’d you just say to me, Catra?!” Catra arched an eyebrow, one ear cocked at the sound of the boy's sudden silence behind her.

“Nothing,” she shrugged, “but I can think of a few…of a few…” a presence was growing in her mind.

 _You wretched child._ She froze and waited for the touch of red lightning to engulf her in agony. She shook her head and reminded herself Shadow Weaver wasn’t there. She was in her chambers doing who-knew-what. _You are exactly like him. Like Octavia. Tormenting those who are weaker than you. No wonder she left._

“Shut up!” Someone yelled in the surrounding crowd. Around them, a dozen voices exclaimed and asked them what was wrong. “Just shut up about it!”

“C-c-catra,” Scorpia chattered, “I-I think we need to g-g-go! Now!” Catra rolled her eyes. Shooting a glare at Scorpia.

“Don’t be stupid, Scorpia, we’re right where we’re supposed to be!”

_She saved your life. How many times now? Too many to count. All you can do to pay her back is hurt her. And why? Because you’re scared, Catra, deep down, under all of this, you’re a little frightened child._

“Are…are you saying that?” she bared her teeth and looked at Octavia. The big woman didn’t laugh or grin or sneer, she was stock still, one eye darting in every direction.

“What… what's happening? I…I can’t see. I’m blind! I can’t see!”

_You did that to her. You blinded her. Did she deserve that, Catra? To lose an eye in a fight you started? No. You never think about the things you do. All these people you ruin and hurt. Adora thought about them. Adora was terrified of you. She was scared of who you became when you were angry._

“Who’s doing that?” Her question was lost in a growing din of scared voices.

“Orders…” the sergeant was gasping, “orders…I didn’t want to! I had orders!”

“Fire in the barracks! There’s a fire! Someone, please! Open the door!”

“Rebels… keep your voices down! Rebels in the trees! They can hear us, be quiet!”

“Catra,” Scorpia yelled, “please…I gotta go home! My mom! I think…something happened to her! I have to go check!”

“Hey,” Lonnie yelped, “the-the lights! They went out again!”

“Everyone **shut up**!” Catra snapped.

_You can’t control them. That’s for the better. You don’t care about them. Any of them. You never did. Not even about Adora._

“Who’s there?” She said, tail puffing up. There was tension growing in her brain. Dread. Like she knew something was about to come crashing into her.

 _But why?_ She thought. _What’s happening?_

_What’s happening to you? You care now that you’re affected? Of course. Always so self-centered. Adora always thought so. She never said anything. She wanted to be your friend so badly, Catra. She hoped she could change you. She was afraid you’d leave her._

“Adora left **me**!” She growled. She was being stupid. Whatever this was, it was a trick. Evil magic or something. She shouldn’t engage with it.

_She wanted so many things from you, Catra, but she never felt safe telling you what they were. She knew how cruel you could be and she tried to be there for you anyway. Her greatest mistake._

“Get away from me!” On impulse, Catra’s claws unsheathed as she batted at the air around her like she had insects buzzing at her face.

A punch landed somewhere in the crowd and an avalanche of violence crashed through the square. Comrades fell, one after the other, screaming and whimpering as they threw wild kicks and punches. Scorpia was trying to shove through the press, blubbering about her mother. Lonnie was swinging her fists at empty air. Rogelio was frozen in place staring into the distance, next to Kyle, who’d fainted dead away.

She was alone in the eye of a maelstrom of fear.

_Alone. Always alone._

“Shut up!” Catra’s fingers dug into her hair, pressing her ears down but the voice only grew louder and mirthful. She crouched away from it, nearly crawling as it became deafening.

_She tricked herself into seeing something in you that no-one else did. She was stupid, like you always said she was, until she finally learned. She finally saw that she was better off without you._

“I’m not listening,” she shrieked.

_But the worst part about you, Catra, is that even now…she misses you._

“Stop,” she rasped, “stop!”

_You could have gone with her. She would have still protected you. But you didn’t want love, you wanted power. You hated her for being stronger. You are worse than a liar. Worse than a bully. You made her think you loved her and now, to be free, she has to think she betrayed you._

“She made her choice!”

_The only one you gave her._

“She’s never coming back!”

 _She’s never coming back_ **_to you._ **

“Go away…please, **go away**!”

 _You deserve the Fright Zone… the only place you belong… here you are laughing at her… scheming against her with the people you hate most… the people who hate_ **_you_ ** _most… the only people you deserve... You never loved her. No matter what you tell yourself. You never loved Adora. Who could do this to someone they love?_

“A-Ah, Adora!” Catra sobbed once, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Adora! _Help_!”

_YOU HID TOO WELL, CATRA, SHE CAN’T FIND YOU. SHE’S CRYING IN THE DARK AND SHE CAN’T FIND YOU._

Catra crumpled to the floor and landed on something made of cold steel. Something new shrieked in her mind, like a ghost howling in agony.

**The child!**

“No more,” she whimpered, “no more. You win. Just…leave me alone.”

**Save the child!**

“Wh-what?”

**I can help you, stranger. Save the boy before it takes him!**

She looked up and gaped. The boy was somehow rising into the open air above them all, kicking and fighting and squirming against nothing. Yelling his little voice hoarse with fear. Catra started to rise.

**The sword. Keep touching the sword!**

“The sword?” she mumbled. Her mind was like a lightbulb whining with too much electricity. Any second now she would pop into shattered glass and burning filament.

**Help him! Help him and I will save you!**

“I,” her pride broke the surface of her fear, “I don’t need you-”

**Yes you do. You are weak.**

“You,” Catra growled, tears still on her face, “You’re the one… why should I trust _you?_ ”

**Look around. Who else will help?**

Horde Troopers, veterans and rookies alike, writhed in horror in every direction. They were crying. Some of the toughest soldiers on Etheria, who’d been taught all their lives that tears were the most hideous weakness, were sobbing like babies.

 **They aren’t alone.** Catra touched her wet face. **Find your courage and sharpen it!**

“I thought,” Catra sneered, shivering at the sights around her, “ you said I was ‘weak’?”

 **Curse you. Then prove me wrong! The sword. Touch the handle and say the words!** Catra’s hands froze above the hilt. **I can give you power. The power to see!**

“B..by the- oh, this is stupid! It doesn’t work this way!”

**The words, you coward, say them and stop being afraid!**

“I’m not a-! Fine, you stupid whatever you are! Don’t forget I took you down.”

**That victory was the scorpion-tailed warrior’s.**

“By the Power,” Catra growled, anger fueling her, “of Grayskull!”

**Now see our enemy. The rest is up to you. Get the sword to him and I will end this… Please.**

Catra blinked as a flash of light shimmered in the fuller of the sword, showing her the barest flash of the warrior’s searing blue eyes. Then the metal turned pitch black.

 _No,_ she thought, _it’s…reflecting the sky? But…_

She looked up, and in the chaos of the Square, her shriek of horror was barely noticeable.

A living shadow blotted out everything above her. Two huge red eyes with obsidian slivers for pupils glared down at her. A hundred tendrils hung below it like the legs of a grotesquely mutated black spider. A handful were spiraling the boy upwards towards its ‘face’ eagerly. Catra felt bile rise in her throat as she realized one was retreating from her. The other voice, the dark and whispery one, had shown itself.

“You,” she hissed, “you…Oh, I got no idea how I’m gonna do it, but I’m gonna kill you!”

Catra leapt into action, sliding around patches of brawling soldiers and vaulting over those who had simply curled up on the ground. It was sickening. She was no stranger to using fear in battle, it was standard Horde tactics, but this was a monstrous display even she found repulsive.

 _Or maybe that’s just cuz it hurt me,_ she felt the thought piercing her, _maybe otherwise I’d want it for myself._ She stung her cheek with a slap and shook her mane. _No! Focus!_ She snatched a spear from the trembling, limp hands of a nearby soldier. With a deft flick of her wrist she held it like a javelin and hurled it at the red eyes. The spear passed through harmlessly like it was mist. 

**That will not work.**

“Oh, duh, gee-wiz, you think so,” Catra affected a dimwitted tone, “you are useless.” The voice offered no further comment. “Don’t you ignore me.”

She tightened her grip on the sword and heaved it up with a grunt of exertion. The thing was heavy and the fact that the boy was even able to _move_ it seemed impossible. Catra lurched forward, shoulder and ankle competing for ‘worst pain’ and staying largely neck-and-neck the whole way. 

“Little further,” she hissed, “little further!” She made liberal use of her elbows to shove aside the gibbering mass of soldiers around her. She eyed the long tendrils tying them to the dark shadow. The ones trying to snatch the boy up seemed to furl and unfurl clumsily, like they weren’t quite meant for it.

“I hope,” she growled, picking up her pace, “this works.” She glared at the red eyes of the shadow-thing. “And more than that, you big creep, I hope this really hurts!” She screamed with the pain in her foot as she raced the last few feet and hefted up the sword. 

**DO NOT HIT THE CHILD!**

“Shut up!” She swung with her whole body, mis-matched eyes tracking the blue steel as it swept a long horizontal arc and grazed a piece of purple fur off the top of the boy’s tunic. She put all her lungs into a mocking laugh as the black tendrils severed under the magic sword passed through them. She choked at the noise the shadow-thing emitted. It was a scream in the pits of her brain and it nearly knocked her flat with its volume. 

“Ow!” The boy piped up, rubbing at his behind where he’d dropped to the floor. His hood had fallen and his eyes searched her curiously.

“Oh…” Catra huffed, barely standing from her wounds, “That hurt? I’m so...so sorry for you. My heart is bleeding… ah! Maybe literally.” She relinquished the weapon with a metal crash and slumped to sit across from him. “Hey,” she pointed at the sword, “chop-chop. Come on. Turn into the big guy and...y’know...do your thing.” She waved a hand vaguely at the glaring shadow-thing. 

The boy looked between her and the weapon several times before, tentatively, taking the sword in hand. 

“By the Power,” he whispered, “of Grayskull.” Catra tensed and waited. The boy glanced up and his cheeks colored a soft pink.

“Um...uh,” he said bashfully.

There was a roar behind her and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Grizzlor charging at them. Foam flew from his mouth and his eyes were huge with fury. The black tendril connecting him to the shadow-thing was taut, as if it were dragging him towards them. She turned on the boy, poking him in the chest.

“Kid. **Figure this out**. Make it work!” She tapped the blade. “Every minute I spend saving your tail is another favor you owe me. Got it?” 

The boy blinked at her and then puffed out his chest with a confident nod. 

“By the Power of Grayskull!” He cried out, his arm extended. They both held out hope that was dashed almost immediately. Grizzlor lopped forward on his knuckles, half-feral in his terror. Catra rose, cracked her neck and spun in place. 

“Oh well,” she snarled, “I wasn’t finished with you anyway!” She lunged forward, claws unsheathing. Behind her the boy screamed once more.

“By the Power of Grayskull!” Catra and Grizzlor collided with animal roars. Around them, the crowd of Horde troopers raised their voices in a chorus of horror as the creature above pulled more victims forward to rush her.

* * *

  
  
  


Hello everyone,

I wanted to take a moment to tell you all about how much I love the show She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Noelle Stevenson and her team gave people like me a show that we badly needed right now. One made to make people of color and queer people feel seen, important, and hopeful for a future that will include them. Her show also told me some things I've heard before, but probably needed to hear again; that we all need each other. We all need to guard and protect each other, especially when we’re at our strongest. And that we do the best job guarding each other when we also remember to love and protect ourselves. 

If you choose to do something to help the BLM cause, whatever form that takes, remember that you’re potentially protecting someone like me by doing so. Please also remember to protect yourself.

I hope whoever you are reading this, you’re somewhere safe, that the past weekend hasn’t broken your spirits entirely yet, and if it did, you find the strength to put it back together again. And I really hope reading this story gave you something that’s helpful to you right now, whatever that could be. 

"We're going to win in the end."

-Hector


	6. The Last Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Other One forms a dubious alliance to battle the Dark Dream and search for a way home. Catra finds that her plans to recruit the stranger may have roped her into more than she’d bargained.

Trigger Warnings: Fantasy violence, physical harm of a child, references to child abuse, emotional/verbal abuse, Depictions of Asphyxiation 

**(PLEASE NOTE that there is a sequence in this chapter that briefly involves depictions of asphyxiation. This chapter was first written months ago using narrative elements seen in the She-Ra (2018) reboot and is in no way inspired by or meant to purposely invoke parallels to current events. The section will be marked with ‘XXX’ at its beginning and end for those who, understandably, do not wish to engage with it right now. Thank you and please enjoy.) - Homer**

  
  


“By the Power of Grayskull!”

The boy huffed and puffed as he waited for the Other One to emerge. A hot sandy feeling scoured his throat.

**Again!**

“Nnnah!” he snapped at the Other One. He was so tired. The inside of his hood was a muffled nest of sweaty hair. He whipped it back and gulped down a breath of air that only fanned the burning in his throat. “By the Power of-eeeek!”

He jumped backwards as the cat-eared lady came tumbling to the ground in front of him. She cracked her golden eye open and looked him over.

“You’re still little,” she groaned, “ _ why _ are you still little?!” In a display of grace and flexibility that left him stunned, she spun herself to her feet and raced to intercept the bear-man she’d been fighting for the last ten minutes. She roll-kicked off his broad chest and lunged on him when he fell prone, air rushing from his lungs.

“By…by the Power of Grayskull!” He shook the sword in frustration, watching the red-eyes overhead glaring at him from the reflective metal. Tendrils were beginning to snake away from the black cloud, circling like hawks about to dive. 

“Any minute now, kid,” the cat-eared lady called to him, springing away from the ape-man’s huge fists. He slapped the ground twice and charged her again.

“By the Power of Grayskull!”

**Run.**

“Ah?” He blinked at the order as he realized that the brawling mob had moved like a tornado around the empty square and his back was suddenly to a huge, empty doorway.

**Go now!**

He looked back at the cat-eared lady. She was fighting for her life. She needed him to help her.

**She is not our concern. Run!** The shadow thing hissed and drew a dozen more of the black-armored soldiers from the thick of the crowd, struggling like flies on a spider’s strings.  **You will not have another chance!**

The boy lifted the sword and began to back away, eyes never straying far from the cat-eared lady. She was strong, and scary. He’d seen it for himself. She’d be alright, wouldn’t she?

**Run!**

The cat-eared lady laughed wickedly as she clawed free of the ape-man’s arms. The boy felt his heart race and it was like a solid fist began pressing down his fears. She didn’t have the Other One and she was doing fine. She was winning!

She was so brave. The boy scowled at the sword. One more time. He could try once more and if it didn’t work then...he’d…

He glanced at the cat-eared lady.

**You must run!**

He squeezed his eyes shut, demanding the sword work with all his might, and thinking constantly about the white lightning that he’d seen in the old gray castle, arcing towards him to bring out the Other One. It had to be here somewhere! Something had to be here!

A gold thread pulsed in the darkness. He felt the tug of something like a warm stream of energy. It reminded him of the lightning.

“By the Power,” he screamed, voice cracking, “of Grayskull!”

* * *

Adora lurched out a nightmare of shadows and red lights, lank hair flying around her face as thunder shook the walls of the Crypto Castle. The room was lit by blue light. She glanced at the far corner from her bed and grimaced.

_ Sword of Protection,  _ read the old runes along the blade. The runestone was burned like a sapphire star in the golden crossguard. The fingers of her right hand twitched and curled into the comforter.

“It's your sword,” she whispered to herself, “you were destined for it!”

But the night had been so bleak and difficult.

After a fashion, they had won the allegiance of the brilliant and singular Princess Entrapta of Dryl. The strange power that had been making life impossible for Adora had dissipated, much to Glimmer’s despair and Bow’s relief, and she could finally put her own socks on again.

_ But…the sword. When I used it… _

Her mind raced with images from the harrowing night trapped in the Crypto Castle. Red. Red veins spreading up her forearms like bloody ivy. A part of herself slipping free from the gestalt entity that was She-Ra, getting shoved into a tiny space, unable to move as outside a hurricane of rage roared around her. The heat of an unquenchable thirst for battle. 

_ The sword stabbing down through the carcass of a mighty robot, mighty no more, laid to waste by the power of She-Ra. By her glory and might. Eyes in the reflection. Red-eyes! Red-eyes in a face with a vicious grin.  _

Adora blinked and a second image swam through the first.

_ Red-eyes in the heart of a shadowy cloud that reached out to take her, whispering at her and trying to make her afraid. ‘Time to go home, Adora!’  _

“No, I’m not going back. This is  _ my _ sword,” Adora said, pulling herself into the present, “it was made for me!” The room was silent as her destiny glowed softly from the corner, but in her mind, a sudden flood of feelings was threatening to wash her away. Dread and courage and hope siphoned in like they were coming from somewhere else, along with a strong urge. She had to take up the sword. She had to transform. 

If she didn’t, she sensed that someone somewhere would die. She tried to tell herself it was, as Bow had explained to her, a trick of anxiety but something in her urged her to act. To be She-Ra.

The room was frigid and the floor was rough but Adora noticed neither of these things as she advanced. She took up the blade and held it aloft.

“For the Honor,” she shouted, “of Grayskull!”

Fire encircled her and dragged glittering sparks around her body as she changed and became something far more ancient and legendary than Adora. The tugging sensation tightened in her mind and a small fraction of her power blinked away along a thread that vanished into the dark. She-Ra considered her reflection in the sword, smiling fondly at the blue eyes she saw staring back. 

She was in control again and that was an immeasurable relief. 

She-Ra smiled as Glimmer and Bow burst into the room, the Bright-Moon princess shoved a sleep-mask off her face and took in the room with wide, pink eyes. They narrowed a moment later.

“Why?” She said, grumpy and frumpled from lack of sleep and magic.

“Adora?” Bow asked carefully.

“I,” the warrior answered, almost in a dream, “am She-Ra!” She was announcing herself to someone… but who?

“We know,” Glimmer snapped, “now for the love of ‘Grayskull’ can we please all just go to sleep? Ugh. How is this night not over yet?” She-Ra embraced her friends in huge, dangerously muscled arms that she had full control over. She was not the powerhouse she’d been when the red-veins had come or the moons aligned. But she was content.

Power was only as worthwhile as the reason you wielded it. She-Ra vanished in a soft illumination and Adora carefully hugged them, mindful of the sword.

“Thanks, guys,” Adora sighed, “I just had a…a dark dream, that’s all.”

“A what?” Bow said. Then his eyes went puppy-dog weepy and he squeezed her tight. “You mean a nightmare? Oh, Adora, it’s okay! Want us to stay with you?” Adora felt a cold chill race down her spine as the feeling of peace vanished.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “a nightmare.” That was what she had meant.

_ Red-eyes. Red-eyes filled with hate. They were set into the shadows and, more horribly, into the face of She-Ra.  _

She-Ra uncontrolled, and Adora powerless as her own body betrayed her, sent off to attack innocent people. Like Light Hope told her Mara had. A nightmare indeed.

She hugged Glimmer and Bow tightly. The energy that had split from her when she transformed was still fresh and warm in her mind, fading to cold absence a moment later. More of the excess power, she reasoned, venting itself from her in a way that, like most things related to She-Ra, she didn’t fully understand. 

“A nightmare. Just a nightmare. Yeah.”

* * *

Catra felt something in her shoulder shift that she imagined wasn’t meant to. She raked her free hand along the back of Grizzlor’s head, ripping a huge ball of greasy fur free. She slipped away when he grabbed at his scalp. The shifting in her shoulder happened again.

_ Back where it’s supposed to be I guess. Gotta knock this guy down before… _

__ __ An armored figure slammed her side at a dead-run and carried her forward a yard before tackling her to the ground. The tentacles drawn on the helmet marked one of Octavia’s veterans. She caught a glimpse of wide eyes, mostly whites around shrunken pupils, through the toxic green visor.

The shadow-thing had brought more friends to play. The kid was squeezing his eyes shut and hefting the sword above his head.

“Now,” she shouted at a muffle, there was a pauldron jammed against her cheek, “would be a GREAT time to-”

She paused and looked at him again. He was hefting the sword above his head! That huge, ridiculous sword!

“Are…are you-yikes!” Above the kid, a white pinprick of light punched down through the foggy mass of the shadow-thing and it did not like that one bit. Catra’s brains were scrambled for an instance at the sheer noise the creature made, coupled with what sounded like a clap of thunder at close range. With a bright flash, she lost sight of the kid altogether. 

Around her, half of the Horde soldiers cried out and the tendrils trapping them disintegrated. Her hopes of reinforcements dashed as they all, one after another, fainted dead away, their armored bodies sounding like a drum roll as they tumbled to the ground. 

The soldier above her slumped forward, nearly smashing his helmet into her sternum. A large foot wrapped in hide armor nudged him away. A huge shadow of muscle blotted out the floodlights of Horde Square.

“Welcome back, meathead,” she said, grinning to cover her overwhelming relief. The warrior gave her a calculating glance and then held out a hand. Catra scowled and got to her own feet, shakily. “Don’t push it.”

A mass of brown fur tackled the warrior from behind and brought him down with a grunt of pain. Catra’s heart clenched. Not everyone had been freed of the creature’s spell. 

“Whats wrong  _ now _ ? You don’t know how to fight if you’re not invincible?” She complained. The warrior shot her a glare as he rolled around with the massive Force Captain. A hairy fist slammed him in the stomach and the warrior wheezed indignantly. He swung his sword in an awkward circle, his strength too matched by Gizzlor’s to turn the tables. “Oh, come on, you’re not even a little super strong?!” He opened his mouth to the reply and the fist in his stomach relocated to his teeth. Catra winced.

_ Ugh, would really suck if that kid could feel all this. _ There was a sound like someone taking the first bite of an apple and then Grizzlor was wailing in agony. Catra grimaced further at the impression on his bitten hand.

“Raaargh!” The warrior gave a wild, desperate roar and swept his sword in a wild arc. Grizzlor ducked clear and the blade whispered through the black tendril, which had anchored itself in the back of the ape-man’s neck. The shadowy appendage evaporated and the puppeteer above screamed horridly inside her brain again.

“What?” Grizzlor said, the warrior flipped them over so he straddled the man’s stomach, free hand digging into the front of Grizzlor’s stained tank-top to yank his shoulders off the floor. “What!” The warrior, hands occupied, gave his answer with his forehead, which was the relative density of a seaside cliff.

There was a ‘thok’ noise like someone bangning two rocks together and Grizzlor’s eyes rolled up. The unconscious Force Captain’s mouth hung open in shock.

The warrior’s head came crashing towards Catra’s feet, flowing blonde hair slapping around his bare shoulders. His bottom lip was swelling to an angry red. A bruise was forming on his stomach in the shape of a fist.

“Ok,” Catra said, “I- I can still work with this. Let’s start by-hey!” The warrior shoved her in the stomach and sent her sprawling. A red flash in the space between them drew her eyes to the right. “Oh, for-Scorpia!”

Her eyes were enormous with fear and darted between Catra and the warrior like they’d crawled out of her psyche’s darkest corner. The warrior crouched and drew back. Catra blinked at him in shock.

“Are you…scared?” There was a brief flash of pink beneath the red tattoos on his cheeks.

“NO!” He shouted back, far too quickly. He was undercut by his own startled gasp as the stinger of Scorpia’s tail pinged off his sword. He brought the weapon up in a guard and circled her carefully. Catra ran up to him and grabbed at his shoulder, her hand comically small against the bronze muscle.

“Don’t hurt her!” The look she got for that would’ve curdled milk. “Hey. You owe me one! So don’t give me any attitude. You can handle it. You’re a She-Ra!” The warrior’s jaw tightened for the barest second, just enough for Catra to catch it.  _ That name meant something to him. _

“Move!” He growled, dodging to the right as Scorpia advanced, her friendly face contorted with terror. Whatever she was seeing, Catra couldn’t imagine. She’d seen Scorpia scared but never scared into silence. Catra darted forward wary of her pincers and recalled how she’d seen the woman fight. If she could keep clear of the arms the tail wouldn’t be quite so dangerous. She measured the full reach of the sting and stood an inch outside of it.

Scorpia’s fear-addled mind must’ve been clouding her senses completely, as she didn’t hesitate to strike. Catra snatched the last segment before the stinger and pulled with all her strength. The effort aggravated her many injuries but Scorpia wasn’t expecting someone to grab her tail, she spun in place too stunned to react.

“Cut the tendril thingy,” Catra said, “it’ll free her, then she can help us!” The warrior backed away, free hand brushing over his shoulder idly. “Hey!  _ Coward! _ ” Blue eyes turned to a glare again. “Just do it! What? Are you  _ too weak? _ ” 

The warrior stomped forward, a snarl bursting from between his teeth, and raised his sword high in both hands. Catra had the horrible thought that he wouldn’t bother listening.

“Hey-Ah!” Scorpia’s powerful tail curled and yanked her onto the floor, stinger hovering a few centimeters from her nose. The warrior’s shadow fell over her and the sword whipped through the air, swinging like a pendulum by her rapidly twitching ear. No sounds of violence so he’d either listened to her, or he’d missed.

“My tail!” Scorpia cried out, Catra curled her fingers hard against her palms as the appendage whipped free of her hands. Pincers smoothed over the segment she’d been holding. “Catra, please, I have to ask you to respect my bubble and stop doing that. Always feels so weird when somebody touches it.” 

“You’re welcome,” Catra struggled to her elbows. A hand yanked her up by the waistband of her pants. “Hey!” She dropped to her feet, glaring at the warrior’s smug grin. A red pincer smashed him in the face. The sword clattered to the floor and he clutched at his nose, eyes watering. “Ha! Sucks right? Now-noooooo!” The other pincer had grabbed her injured shoulder and yanked her against Scorpia’s chest.

“How’d he come back?” Scorpia said. “Where’d that little boy go?”

“That’s him,” Catra yowled as she tried to break free, “Scorpia, you’re breaking my bones! That’s the kid in She-Ra form so just let me go!”

Scorpia gasped suddenly and pure disgust curdled her face. Catra’s eyes zipped up at the writhing, agonized shadow to search vainly for another tendril. Nothing. Yet Scorpia still seemed overawed by terror.

“I…I just,” she raised her shaking pincer to cover her mouth, “I just punched a little boy in the face!” Her voice fell to a harsh whisper. “I stung a little boy with my  _ venom _ !” She stumbled forward to the pained warrior. “Are you ok, little guy? If you’re tasting colors, that’s perfectly normal!” The warrior unveiled a nose with twin waterfalls of blood spilling from both nostrils, and raccoon-like bruising purpling around hateful eyes.

“Catra, I’m a monster!” Scorpia wailed, burying her face into Catra’s mane. The warrior raised both fists. Catra struggled free and planted both palms on his chest, framing the red cross painted over his heart with her hands.

“Enough! Cool it! Nobody,” she glared at Scorpia, “punches anybody else unless I say so!” A deep, bellowing roar turned them all to a towering figure with four lashing tentacles and one watery-yellow eye. “Her. Punch her. Go wild.”

The warrior eyed Octavia and then his sword, with a huff he juked forward and tried to swing for the black tendril rising like a fifth tentacle from her back. All four of his limbs were ensnared in the pure muscle of her tentacles, which left him no defenses as Octavia’s fists worked him over.

“What’d you do to me! You blinded me! You! You!” Octavia’s strained voice descended into horrified repetition. ‘you-you-you’. Each cry coming as another heavy strike landed on the unprotected stomach, chest, and face of her enemy. Catra elbowed Scorpia in the side, wincing as she hit the chitin under the soft clothing.

“ _ Help him _ ,” she said.

“What?” Scorpia balked. “Octavia’s kinda going hard but…Catra that’d be treason!” Catra pointed directly up and Scorpia followed her finger. A strange, placid look passed over her face as she stared overhead. Then she snorted and laughed.    
“I see! This is all a nightmare! A bad dream... Boy. That is a  _ relief _ . Ok, waking up now.” She closed her eyes. Sweat began to trickle down her forehead. “Waking up...now. Now. Now! Waking up now!”

Catra reached past her pincers and pinched the soft skin by her elbow sharply. Scorpia frowned. 

“Yeah,” she said, “that’s kinda what I was afraid of.” She peeked slowly back out at the monster. “So...was that thing…”

“Inside your brain and inside their brains, controlling them,” Catra groaned at the horror creeping across Scorpia’s face, “have a breakdown later!” The monster’s tendrils had all tightened like fishing lines. The trapped soldiers were being dragged, kicking and screaming, towards them to join in the fight. Catra grinned as she realized it was having difficulty controlling them all at once. If it could make mistakes, they it could be beaten.

“Ok,” Scorpia’s voice quavered somewhere between nervous and paralyzed-with-terror, “so could we maybe consider that Octavia and the others aren’t really in control of their actions? I mean we’re all Horde here and-”

_ No time for this!  _ Catra thought. The warrior was still in trouble and if he got too hurt and the kid came back...the kid! She fought back a sly smile and adopted a serious expression, then cupped Scorpia’s strong, noble jawline in her hands and stared into her face.

“Scorpia that is a child getting beat up over there,” Catra cheered internally as concern flashed in Scorpia’s eyes, “he’s got big, sad blue eyes and he’s really small. And he’s got a little voice that goes like this: ‘ah-ah’.” Scorpia’s lip quivered. “And right now he’s getting the stuffing punched out of him.” Scorpia hesitated and Catra went in for the kill. She jabbed a claw skyward “And that thing is trying to take him and it will if we don’t help right now!”

There was a brief silence and then Scorpia stood resolutely to her full, powerful height. She shot a less than confident glare up at the shadow.

“Listen up...cloud...you got one chance to let everybody go or else!” she waited ten seconds. “Nerts.” With a battle-cry she rushed into the fight. 

“Stand down, Octavia,” she said, wrapping the other Force Captain in a bear hug from behind, “stand down!” She bobbed her head away from a big, green elbow. “I do not want to sting you! Do not make me do that!” Two of the tentacles trapping the warrior slithered backwards to smack Scorpia around the head.

“Just do it,” Catra yelled. Someone spun her around by her bad shoulder. “Ahhhh, I’m gonna kill you all!” She ducked a haymaker and sprang onto her attacker’s chest, slamming them to the ground and leaving them open for a clawing. Her fingers froze at the terrified hazel eyes looking up through them. Her hesitation to harm Lonnie distracted her from Rogelio. 

His foot glanced off her shoulder and he turned with the momentum to swing his tail at her head. Not quickly enough, she sank downwards, and it slapped the sensitive tip of one of her ears. Her vision went blurry with reflexive tears and she lashed out purely on instinct.

She caught empty air and had to stumble backwards as Lonnie shoved her away. She could hardly see and one of her ears was pressed stubbornly to her head to avoid further injury. Still she could pick out some sounds.

A rubbery thudding sound began to keep a stilted rhythm in her ringing ears and resolved itself as sustained punching. The warrior’s jacked-up face was contorted in fury and he was venting it all on Octavia, who was finally too distracted to fight back.

Rogelio was leaping at her, body angled in a martial arts stance, with Lonnie coming in behind, both fists raised like a boxer. She moved fluidly around her first squadmate and vaulted over the second, throwing a wild backwards kick at the back of her head. She connected and sent Lonnie barreling into Rogelio. 

“Ok,” she huffed, “nowhere near as tough as you should be. Still,” she grinned at the tangle of the two troopers, “I’ll call this ‘the time I beat you both single-handed’ anyway.” 

Catra spared a glance back at the warrior.

“Y-you,” Octavia burbled around swollen lips, “you…” a final right hook knocked her out and her tentacles unwound from Scorpia and the warrior. That must have been holding him up, he tumbled onto his back with a wheezing sound.

It looked like a map of the world had been inked on his torso in purple, yellow, and black. He shuddered a few croaking breaths and retrieved his sword before climbing back to his feet. He glared at the unconscious Octavia, still held up by Scorpia’s stunned bear-hug. His sword glinted eagerly in the light.

“Hold it. Forget about her,” Catra snarled, “take out the shadow!” The warrior glared at being order. Catra looked expectantly at Scopria. “And you can let go of her now, Scopria?” 

“Right,” Scorpia said with a nervous smile. Gingerly, because she just insisted on making Catra’s life harder, she laid the Force Captain on the ground. She was bent double when five of the shadow’s puppet-troopers threw themselves at her and dragged her to the ground. 

The warrior turned in time to get dogpiled by a dozen more of them.

“I should’ve just had the kid back me up,” Catra said, loud enough for the warrior to hear, “he might have done something useful! Don’t go dying, you idiots, I’ll be there in a second.”

She’d forgotten all about the danger overhead. A presence wrapped itself around her mind. She had time to see the red-eyes overhead flash with glee before the tendril anchoring itself in her neck blocked them.

_ No, you won’t. You can’t save him. _

“Get out! Get out of my head!” She gripped two handfuls of her mane and tugged hard as if it might evict the shadow’s voice.

“Guys, it’s me Scorpia! I...don’t know any of you actually...but I’m sure deep down you know this is-kidneys! Those are my kidneys you just punched!” Scorpia writhed against the soldiers kneeling on her legs, pinning her arms to the ground. The warrior vanished under the pile of Horde troopers.

_ You can’t save anyone. _

Hands gripped her shoulders, squeezing harshly, and forcing her to her stomach. Catra was too disoriented to do more than struggle against Rogelio and Lonnie. They weren’t at their best but their respective strengths had not diminished at all.

_ You can’t even save yourself. Weak. Too weak. Too alone. _

“Get away!” Catra snarled. “I’m your Force Captain, you idiots, and I’m ten times scarier than whatever that thing is!”

_ Nothing. Nothing without her. Adora left and took away everything that made you special, Catra. You are nothing without her. _

“Let me go!”

_ NOTHING _

Before her, the troopers attacking the warrior began to fumble their stun batons off their belts. Catra’s heart stopped. If he went down now and she couldn’t get free she’d be…

_ Alone.  _ The shadow whispered in her ear, hungry and eager.  _ All alone with me. _

She felt the tremble of power as the shadow ordered its other victims to strike. 

“No!” Catra howled. “Get away from him, he’s mine!” One of her squadmates smashed their palm into the back of her head and her vision went blurry. She saw dim orbs of green light.

She felt the crackle of electricity near her and became hyperaware of how she simply couldn’t move. It made her mind reel back in time for a moment, to the Black Garnet Chamber when she was nine, no bigger than the boy. She struggled harder and filled with an odd, protective rage. For a moment she forgot the warrior and could only think about the boy. 

The shadow in her mind shuddered with greed, pawing through her traumatic memories.

_ “I will get rid of you.” Shadow Weaver’s eyes looked red, red like the monster’s, through the haze of her magic. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even yell. Adora. It was Adora’s idea! _

“Leave him alone,” she growled, “don’t you touch him!” 

The warrior was screaming in pain. Short staccato barks that grew in noise and intensity. 

_ You shouldn’t have gone where you are not wanted, Catra. This is your punishment. This is...what,,,what is this?! What are you doing?! _

The shadow relented, Catra’s squadmates shivered as the connection became weaker, and she took the chance to drive her elbows in their stomachs and, when they curled forwards, the bottom of their chins. They fell to the floor in perfect sync. 

The warrior’s screaming was strange. It almost sounded like laughter.

“Wait,” Catra gasped, wrestling her face up to see, “are…are you laughing?”

_ More.  _ The shadow snarled, Catra fought the impulse to obey.  _ Subdue him. More! _

“Yes,” the warrior’s deep voice rang out triumphantly, “more!” A dozen voices quailed in surprise and the shapes before her moved like figures on a waterlogged painting. The black blurs trembled around one with a halo of gold around its head.

The haloed shape shook like a dog and the black smudges flew in every direction, screaming in shock. Then the haloed shape advanced and Catra felt her arms freed. The presence in her mind hissed at her like burning fat on a fire. Her body was yanked clear off the ground and her mind went blank.

_ This…what is…this is your fault! You!  _ Catra felt the whole weight of the shadow squeeze her mind like it would strangle her. 

“What’s a matter,” Catra mumbled sleepily, “are you  _ scared?” _

Metal sang through the air and something snapped above her head with a fading shriek. She was falling and then she was caught against warm skin, humming with power.

“Catra!” Scorpia said. “Is she ok?”

“Alive,” the warrior’s voice rumbled. Catra thought how different he sounded when he wasn’t mocking or angry or scared. He sounded exhausted. The world sharpened and she wriggled free of the warrior’s arms with a high-pitched noise of embarrassment.

“Get your paws off me,” she snapped, “who asked you for help anyway?" The warrior grunted, giving her a look that said ‘you’re welcome’ in the most sarcastic way.

“Catra,” Scorpia gasped, “you should’ve seen it! They started shocking him and he…he…actually I have no idea what he did but look at him!” The warrior was furrowing his brow at the shadow monster and the monster was looking back with murderous intent. He pointed his sword at it and then growled in frustration. 

Catra felt a grin coiling onto her face as he waved his sword around. She outright laughed when one of the shadow’s puppets thrust a spear into his arm and the tip bent. The warrior socked him in the helmet and the sturdy visor shattered like a cheap, clay mug. 

“They shocked him,” Catra thought, she unclipped a stun baton from someone who wouldn’t need it for a long while, “and now he’s back to being a Princess, huh? Could it be that simple?”

“Yes,” Scorpia said, smirking nervously, “so simple. So simple that you should explain it and we’ll both laugh at how easy to understand it is.” She was fussing over Lonnie and Rogelio. “Could you ask him to free these two? They’re just stunned.”

“Hey, big guy,” she called out, waving the baton at him, “come here.” The warrior bristled again at being commanded but Catra was pleased to see him respond anyway. He flicked his sword casually and freed the two troopers. They rose, rubbing at their injuries, and Lonnie opened her mouth to voice a question. The warrior promptly bopped them both on the head with either fist. 

“Hey!” Scorpia and Catra cried in unison as Rogelio and Lonnie crashed to the ground. He arched one golden eyebrow at them and shrugged. There was a weak slapping sound behind him and he turned to regard Kyle, near catatonic with fear, batting at him with his bare hands. The warrior rolled his eyes, freed the boy, and hesitated with a look at Catra. 

“Yes,” she sighed, “don’t knock him out.” Kyle blinked away his confusion, took in the scene, looked up at the monster, and fainted. The warrior grunted in fury and Catra realized, while they’d been distracted, that the shadow had tried to slip a tendril into his mind. The thing howled and wrenched its appendage back, shimmering with anguish. Catra laughed as the remaining victims answered with their own cries and fell to the floor. They were the last three standing. 

“That’s pretty much everything you got, huh?” Catra said to the shadow creature. 

_ ….mock…me…at…your…peril...  _ The voice was like a slow, lazy rumble of thunder outside her head. Scorpia shivered next to her and the warrior bared his teeth. 

“Those were some really crummy last words,” Catra said, manic glee touching her smile, she turned to the warrior, “so I think I know how you work now.” She twirled the baton in her hand. “How bout another booster shot?”

“Ooooh,” Scorpia said, “I get it.” She winked. The warrior swiped the baton from her and jabbed against his stomach several times, frowning when it didn’t work. “You gotta use the button. There’s a button on the-”

“Here,” Catra reached out and activated the weapon, “eat up.” Green bolts blasted over the rippling abdominals and brought a grim smile to the warrior’s stoic face. “Plenty more where that came from, I can get you all the juice you want. Think about that, huh? But for now.” She nodded up. “Handle that thing.”

“Stop,” the warrior grumbled.

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Catra winked, “you want payback. I can see it in your face.” The baton blabbed as the battery was drained completely. “So do I. Funny how we can help each other, right?” The warrior drew his thumb along the flat of his blade and grinned at the shadow.

It was not a pleasant sight.

“Dark Dream,” he said, eyes locking with the shadow’s. Catra snorted.

“What is that name?” Dark Dream shifted and became a long snake of shadow, slithering a few feet closer to the ground. Catra resisted the urge to puff-up her fur at it.

_ …I…read you…as…well…creature… _

“What’s it doing?” Scorpia whispered. Catra shushed her sharply, ears pricking.

_ …I…know…your…fear… _

The warrior raised his sword, pointing it accusingly at the monster.

_ …the boy…will…abandon you... too…like always... _

_ Hello,  _ Catra thought,  _ does that mean what I think it does? _

“Goodbye,” the warrior growled. White lightning arced through the air from the sword-tip, like an extension of the blade itself. The fog-like form was severed and the thin dark pupils in its red eyes darted around frantically. The shadow body evaporated into nothing, unveiling the black sky and the moons of the Etheria. The ‘face’ floated weakly about them like a red-eyed bat. 

… _How…how…how..._ it shrieked. The warrior watched his enemy panic and Catra turned a harsh glare on him.

“Quit playing around,” Catra snapped, “I said to finish it off!” He pointed his sword up and drew it back with a frustrated growl. Not enough power left, she realized, for another blast. 

Dark Dream hissed and fled, a scrap of shadow shrinking into the upper darkness of the Fright Zone skyline. The warrior spat after it, sheathing his broad blade in the loop on his back. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sat cross-legged on the ground, closed his eyes and seemed to meditate for a moment.

“We’ll learn you,” Catra said, glaring after the monster, “name’s Catra. What’s yours?” She bit back a curse when she got no answer. “Hey! Don’t pull the quiet act again, weirdo, what’s your name?” She paused. “What’s the kid’s name?”

Sapphire eyes opened and scorched at her. Catra snickered.

“So…that’s how it works, huh?” She circled the warrior, tapping her chin. “He hides and you come out. How’d he manage it this time?” No answer, as she suspected. “You’ll tell me eventually. Turn back into him.”

“No.”

“He speaks,” Catra rolled her eyes, “that wasn’t a request. Do it or-”

“Or?” he rumbled, glancing at her cautiously as his hands curled into fists atop his thighs. She hesitated a second, eyes searching the square and landing on a dead stun-baton.

She did what she did best. She bluffed.

“Don’t get cute,” she said, affecting boredom, “I bet stun-batons are tasty but they’re probably not very nutritious. Magic is what you need and, unlucky you, this is about the only place on Etheria that doesn’t have magic coming out the yin-yang.”

“ _ Ether _ ia?” The warrior asked, almost seeming shocked. Catra arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said, “as in, like, our world. Etheria? That venom do something to your brain?”

“Nothing permanent, usually,” Scorpia said, finally joining them with a few cautious steps, “but if there’s anything that lasts longer than twenty-four hours you should consult a medic. So, by the way, Hi? I’m Scopria.”

“Etheria?” the warrior’s eyes were growing huge, “Etheria?!” He looked around with a strange, dawning expression of terror. He focused on the night sky and his pupils shrank. “No...”

“What’s with you?” Catra asked. “You were practically as chatty as Scorpia before you transformed but now…”

The warrior leapt to his feet and unsheathed his sword in one fluid movement. He shook off his episode and became laser-focused on the door to Hordak’s inner sanctum.

“Back up,” Catra said to Scorpia, “don’t crowd him. Hey, big guy, whatever you’re thinking about? Bad idea. If its anything other than listening to me it’s a bad idea. There’s a whole lot more trouble mustering out there right now and it’ll be here soon.”

She pressed the button on her badge and watched him cock his head at a sudden influx of voices. Orders, answers, and the tactical maneuverings of the entire Fright Zone babbled at him for a few seconds before Catra cut them off with a twitch of her finger.

“You can’t stay invincible for ever,” she said, “you’re already out of juice, huh?”

The warrior’s body was trembling with rage, his angry face upturned at the night sky as if  _ it  _ was somehow responsible for everything. 

“Rule number one,” she said, satisfaction soothing all of her injuries, “I’m your boss.”

The warrior looked at her for a long moment and then burst out into great guffaws of laughter. Each one buffeted her ears like a punch of wind.

“Never,” the warrior said. He tensed and jumped high in the air towards the steps. Catra raced after him, leaving Scorpia protesting weakly behind them. She took the stairs five steps at a time and summited as a reedy voice hurled threats.

“I have powers the likes of which,” Mantenna cried out, “you cannot begin to fathom!” There was grunt and a shoving noise, Catra sidestepped a flailing, four-legged figure as it bounced on every step down toward the square.

“Dead-end,” she said as she found the warrior levering the doors open with his blade. He froze and considered her; she shrugged and made herself comfortable against the wall next to him. “I know you’re doomed, why should I get hurt fighting you again? I’m just waiting for you to do the smart thing and listen to me.” She inspected her claws, hiding her amazement when the heavy doors groaned open.

She sidled through easily after the big body, glancing around the empty throne room.

“Hey, Lord Hordak!” She called out to the empty doorway of the lab beyond. The warrior stopped and stalked up to her.

“Leaving,” he growled.

“No, you’re not,” Catra scoffed, “you’re trapped, pal, even if you don’t know it. Now come on. I’m being pretty nice all things considered. How bout you just take a deep breath and I-”

“Eyes,” the warrior snapped. Catra blinked.

“What about them?”

“See,” he said, crossing his arms. Catra folded hers and leaned back to look at his face.

“Very good,” she chuckled, “eyes do see. Can you tell me what these do?” She wiggled her ears. The warrior grunted and scratched at his hair, face twisting with effort.

“See…you,” he managed, “eyes. Your eyes!” He lurched forward pointing at her eyes. “See you.” He pointed at his own. “See. You.”

“Okay. And what do you see?” Catra’s tail flicked.

“Evil.” The warrior turned and marched onward.

“Great. Another hero, huh?” Catra followed after him, shivering at little now that his back was turned. He was intense and no less dangerous than ever. “You’re in the Fright Zone, meathead. Heroes don’t last long here. They’re coming for you.”

The warrior paused by the throne of Hordak, barely acknowledging it. Catra found that odd, it was the first thing she looked at when she came into the chamber, even then. The warrior pounded his chest twice with his empty fist and turned away.

“And if you can’t,” Catra said, voice echoing through the empty space, “what happens to the little boy?” The warrior turned and pointed the sword at her, eyes flashing with their power. Catra fought the urge to jump away and stared back into his eyes. “Don’t be mad just because I’m thinking about him and you’re not.” Her eyes narrowed. “I bet you think you’re doing what’s best for him, right? Did he want to come here? Or did you make him come here?”

She cast an eye around the wrecked laboratory and found it empty.  _ Pfft. Some leader of the Horde. Where even is he? _

There was a furious roar from beyond the wreckage and Catra laughed when she found the warrior shaking a tall metal circle like it was a temperamental vending machine.

“Did you-snrk-did you try calling somebody from Maintenance? File a request? Get comfy, they never come down after-hours.”

The warrior’s balled fist made the metal ring as he thumped the strange device.

“Go on, kick it. Kick it, like, right at the base I hear,” she giggled, “I hear that works!”

The warrior let loose a scream of pure frustration. Catra cackled.

“Wait-wait. One more! One more! Turn it off and turn it back on again. Hahaha!” She covered her mouth and peered through the slits of her eyes, giggling. She cleared her throat. “Ready to make a deal? Or do you want to do this some more? I can wait.”

His anger didn’t frighten her anymore, now that she could smell the fear in it. Time for her to go to work. She sauntered up to him, glancing fearlessly into his eyes.

“On!” He roared, jabbing a finger at the machine. 

_ Too easy,  _ she thought.

“Turn back into the kid,” she said casually, “right now. I’ll turn the machine on then.”

“On!” The warrior, hefting his sword under her chin. Catra made a show of using her reflection in the blade to clean her teeth. The warrior struggled to threaten her. “On! On! Now! Or..”

“ _ Or?”  _ She said languidly, relishing the way his face tensed. All that power, all that strength. Hers to manipulate.

_ I can’t wait, Adora,  _ she thought,  _ to see the look on your face when you see I’ve got my own pet She-Ra now. Oh, I just can’t wait. _

“On,” the warrior said through his teeth, “please.”

“I’m done talking to  _ you _ ,” she whispered, “you know how this works. The kid. Now.”

“ON!” He roared, more desperate than angry.

“She can’t do that,” a voice startled them both into defensive stances, Lord Hordak stood, arms folded behind his back, in the doorway of the lab. In the dark green lights, only his red eyes showed any definition to his silhouette. “No one on this planet can.”

The warrior balled up his fist and crushed a metal table with a single punch.

“Yes,” Hordak hissed, “Infuriating, isn’t it? Force Captain, leave now.”

“Wait,” Catra said, “my lord, I can control him!” She looked at the warrior. “Hey, quit throwing a tantrum and get in line, meathead, your life depends on it.” He growled at her and cracked a concrete pillar with a furious kick.

“Catra,” Hordak’s voice grew tenser, “I have given you an order. Leave my lab.” Catra grit her teeth, seeing her opportunity slipping through her grasp like crushed flower petals.

“Just…just wait a second!” Catra said, “I mean… my lord, please, wait. He can be  _ useful _ . Valuable. The Horde could benefit-”

“The Horde is about to benefit from this creature’s death,” Hordak said, the warrior turned and snarled, bear-like, at him, “it would be most unfortunate if you died with him. Get out. There will be no other warnings.”

“Hey,” Catra turned to the warrior, talking under her breath, “last chance. Last chance to make the right decision. The kid dies if you die, huh? Kill this guy and you’re three-hundred kinds of dead.”

The warrior glared at her petulantly.

“I’ll look after the kid,” she found herself saying, “and you’ll repay me by fighting when I want you to fight. Deal?” The hilt groaned in the warrior’s tightening grip. “Oh, boo-hoo, you’re not happy with that? Welcome to the Fright Zone. No-one gets what they want and nobody loses sleep over it. You came here. You got him into this. Get him out of it!”

“You!” Foam geysers shot from between his clenched teeth.

“Me,” Catra said, “I’m his only chance. Swallow your stupid pride and make the smart choice here.” The warrior slumped his shoulders, he looked on the verge of tears, and he began to lower his weapon. “Smart choice.”

That was a mistake. A blast furnace of suicidal ego lit a blue fire behind his pupils, he twirled the sword in his grip and spun. The sword spun from his grip in a rotation of deadly blue steel.

“You idiot!” She snarled, reaching out as if to stop the attack. Lord Hordak didn’t move and Catra watched in awe as the sword spiraled through the air and it passed  _ through _ Hordak to rebound off the metal doors with a sad, anti-climatic twang. Hordak shimmered and vanished.

The warrior and Catra looked at it, dumbfounded. A speaker came to life in a burst of static.

“Up close, the image would’ve been an obvious lie,” Hordak said, calm and dangerous, “we work within the limits we have, of course. Force Captain Catra, thank you for your service, but I did try to warn you. Take solace in watching our enemy die along with you.”

**XXX**

There was a dangerous electric snap from overhead and Catra realized she was standing in a triangle of three tall pillars topped with metal spheres. A red haze descended on the room as Catra and the warrior watched in awe.

Then Catra realized she couldn’t catch her breath, as if it was being drained out of her. She took a gulp of the vanishing oxygen, instincts pushing her to survive past her confusion. 

_ Stop! Stop! What are you doing?  _ She screamed it in her head because she couldn’t speak the words without letting more air out. The warrior grasped at his throat and fell like a crumbling mountain. She glared at him around her watering eyes.  _ This is your fault! This is all your fault! Oh, just wait! I’ll kill you! You big dumb meatheaded idiot! I was trying to help you! I wanted…I… _

“Help..”she heard the warrior croak, “Him! Help...him. Deal!” 

She felt herself beginning to fade and crumpled to the floor. She was dying. This was it. All the pain and misery. Shadow Weaver’s cruelty. The Horde’s cruelty. The years of training, of suffering. It was all ending with a scheme gone wrong. She'd made one little mistake, and it cost her everything. 

_ I…want…I…want… _

How many times had she escaped death that very night to end here, drifting away silently on the floor of Hordak’s lab. Alone. Always alone. She reached out for someone who wasn’t there.

_ I want Adora! I want to kiss her and punch her and tell her to leave and beg her to stay and I want her! I don’t know what I want from her but I WANT HER! I WANT ADORA BACK! _

But Adora was gone and never coming back.

There was a flash of light in front of her. The warrior was gone and a tiny body glanced around and wriggled in panic. A hood fell back and a face looked up at her with eyes that were a painfully familiar shade of blue.

The boy reached out to her with a trembling hand. She was becoming delirious now, she reasoned, and it was all too funny. Asking for Adora and getting this little boy who looked so much like her. Maybe it was a fitting end to a life of being second-best. 

Tiny little thing. Small. Like she’d been.

When she promised. Before things were complicated. Before she could ever hurt her.

Catra felt something burst in her chest.

He didn’t deserve this. He wasn’t the warrior. He wasn’t the one who’d led them here.

_ Sure,  _ she thought,  _ why not, right? _

__ Lifting her hand now was nearly impossible. Her insides were on fire and the fire was growing so hot it was searing away everything else. Her hand found his and squeezed it tight. The look of wonder in the boy’s fading eyes was so like Adora’s that Catra couldn’t help it.

Catra wasted the breath of air still in her mouth on a wry laugh. It was all a joke anyway. But she resolved to have the punchline.

The darkness pushed in on her until all that the world was gone and the only thing left in it was the hand she clutched tightly in hers.

“Hey… Adora…” she said with a weak smile and the last of her strength, voice shrinking and vision gone. The rest she thought in her head before everything went dark.

_ I thought I hid too well for you. But you found me. Good job. _

_ Didn’t… _

_ …you… _

_ …want… _

_ …to tell me… _

_ …something? _

__

  
  
  
  
  


**XXX**

  
  


Hordak pressed his shoulder to the panic-room door, burning with indignation. The door resisted, caught on some debris thrown about the lab. He shoved, nearly toppling as he did so. His body was broken and on the brink of full collapse.

The Imp squeezed past him and took wing into the shadows.

The door groaned outwards and a machine crashed to the floor, letting him stumble into his ruined sanctum. The portal remained where it was, undamaged, a final mockery.

His organs briefly stopped working and his body seized against a concrete pillar.

“Not now,” he hissed, “at least let me see that he’s dead. If I have to perish here at least let me see!” He heard Force Captain Catra whispering something around the corner. She lived. But the other one…

“For Horde Prime’s sake, just let him be dead,” he hissed, seeing the light play off the sword where it lay at the door of his lab. He groped towards it, wrenching it from the floor with more strength than was responsible. Using it like a crutch, he cursed himself for weakness with every centimeter he needed it as he limped to the lifeless bodies in the middle of the floor. Catra, and next to her, a child.

_ What is this?  _ Hordak’s mind reeled.  _ A child. A child was the death of Lord Hordak? No. That could not be. _

Force Captain Catra lurched up, eyes watering from near suffocation, and took a few deep breaths of precious air. She coughed loudly and tried to rise up. Twice she made it to all fours before dropping back down to her stomach.

“Oh, I’m… still… oh thank you,” she sobbed breathlessly to herself, “Thank you, thank you!” She noticed him after a minute and her heterochromatic eyes filled with a fire that, in any other instance, would’ve earned her a swift execution. “You...you could’ve killed me!”

“You made your choice to disobey me,” Hordak said, willing himself to look stronger than he was. “Perhaps for the last time, Force Captain. Now, the child...check his pulse.” 

Catra leaned forward, blocking his view of the frail creature, and he heard her whisper distantly. The words were too quiet to make out, but it didn’t matter. The boy was dead. 

He heard her gasp in shock. Hordak felt the emotions in him emptying outwards. Almost like it had been when he could cleanse himself in the love and light of Horde Prime. The lights flickered and burst overhead, falling victim to the same power outage that killed his atmospheric manipulation machine.

“He lives,” he mumbled in disbelief. He dragged himself closer. “Move!” 

“It’s faint but-”

“Silence,” he growled. Hordak loomed over the unconscious body, smaller than him in comparison by a galaxy. His right-hand gripped the great sword’s hilt with twitching, vengeful fingers that quivered to the thought of killing the waif.

It would take a single, sloppy chop to have his revenge and end any threat to his empire the boy might pose. It would be the most natural thing in the world to do, flavored with the irony of the victim’s death by his very own sword.

But that sword was also the sole thing holding the Leader of the Horde on his feet. There was no certainty he could even lift the thing overhead without tumbling to the floor and perishing from the sheer exertion of the last few hours. He was simply too weak to exact his toll. 

“Get rid of him,” Hordak growled as fury overwhelmed him. Catra looked between them both rapidly.

“Like, k-kill him?” Hordak felt rage seeping into him, the greatest of his emotional failures returning to him first. He did not deserve freedom yet, Horde Prime did not let rage cloud his judgements. Horde Prime would’ve killed the boy at once, with no fear of dying. He was not worthy of rejoining Horde Prime. He found his shaking, snarling voice at last.

“Kill him, do not kill him.  **I do not care.** But if you fail to take that thing out of my lab this instant, both of you will die! Now!  **Get! Out!** ” The young woman scooped him up in weak arms, a look of bewilderment stuck on her face. 

Catra limped forward, adjusting her grip on the boy’s body. He could do nothing. Nothing. If he tried he would collapse and wither away, thus ending the tale of Hordak. The Failure.

_ Failure.  _ He glanced at the portal machine.

_ Failure.  _ His eyes slid to the dead pillars of the Atmosphere Manipulation Device.

“Failure,” he whispered, watching the boy’s hands curl slowly into the fabric of Catra’s uniform before he and the Force Captain vanished into his throne room. He gestured and the great doors sealed shut. He collapsed to the ground, nearly slicing himself in half with the boy’s weapon.

The Imp settled near him, lantern-eyes watching with concern. Hordak realized with an icy chill how weak he’d looked to Force Captain Catra. That one needed watching, no doubt. And leverage. She was a potent soldier to fight the warrior and live. And she seemed to have a lucky streak in survival. A useful danger if he could find some way of controlling her whims.

“What…did she say to the boy…just now? Did you hear?”

The spy opened his mouth.

“What a waste,” Catra’s voice whispered out. Lord Hordak pondered the comment as he lay in the dark of his lab, surrounded by destruction. 

  
  


Author and Editor’s Note: A very Happy and safe Pride to everyone out there. And continuing well-wishes to the brave demonstrators standing-up for racial justice. And to anyone, in general, feeling lost and afraid right now, thanks for spending any of your free time reading our little work, and please know that you aren’t alone right now. 


	7. Boy from Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The major forces of the Horde converge on Catra and Scorpia, demanding answers and preparing for a reckoning. Catra's plans to ally herself with the new 'She-Ra' get off to a very rocky start.

Catra’s tail had barely slipped past the closing doors of Hordak’s lab before they sealed shut with a hiss of air.

Precious, precious air.

Her lungs and throat _hurt_ with every breath. She was hyper aware of every injury from throughout the night; her shoulder, right foot, and nose all felt like they’d been struck a second ago. 

She needed to sit down. Catch some wind. She hissed over each step down from the dias and nearly crumpled forward as she sat on the last step. The boy made no sounds but a metronome of slow, steady breaths.

_We almost died._ Catra felt fresh horror squeezing the back of her brain. _I almost died! And all I could think about was…_

“C’mon, open...” Scorpia’s voice grunted, “up already!” There was a little cry of alarm and the sound of someone falling heavily to the floor. Scorpia groaned and pulled herself up. “Catra?”

“Here,” Catra called over, “on the stairs.” Her ears flickered at the heavy clomp of Scorpia’s boots as she rushed towards them. “I’ve got the kid.”

“Oh no, is he…”

“Dead to the world, maybe, but don’t worry. He’s still kicking,” Catra grumbled, shooting a glare at the dozing child. She bet it must have been nice to be all cozy, and have someone carry you. “Lucky kid. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Phew,” Scorpia crouched, resting her face in her pincers, “I was _so_ worried. Little boy on our conscience? No thanks, right? On top of everything else… uh, listen, boss? There’s a lot going on out there right now. I squeezed by, but its… uh… pretty tense out there, let me tell ya. Hang on.” Scorpia gave her some distance and began to talk rapidly to someone in her badge.

Catra grimaced. She shifted the child in her arms, he was agitating her hip with how he sat on her. She took a deep breath, still shaken from Hordak’s strange device. She caught a strong whiff of the boy’s perfume as she did.

“Ack!-Gross-ack!-ugh,” she could not get herself to breathe through her mouth, “oh. Kid…you really smell.” No response came from beneath the curtain of greasy hair hiding the boy’s whole head.

“Uh,” Scorpia glanced back, still talking into her badge, “sure, sir. I mean ‘yes, Admiral’. No…just her. I’ll ask-”

A generator kicked on in the walls with a thunderous boom of steel. The green light-tubing glowed once more, showing a dim, murky view of the Fright Zone outside. Catra idly glanced towards Doom Tower. The floodlights on the giant smokestack arrogantly displayed the Horde symbol in full light as if the power-outage had never happened. The doors of the throne room whined open.

“Aww, c’mon! I could’ve waited two minutes? Would’ve spared my back,” Scorpia whined. There was a heavy wave of noise coming up the concrete steps outside. Catra tucked her face to her chest as the beams of a powerful searchlight came blasting into the dimly-lit room. She fumbled for her badge and pressed it.

“Whoever’s pointing a light into the throne room,” she growled, “knock it off, now!” The light vanished, just as blinding in its sudden absence. She heard an airship engine whine as it banked away into the sky. _Airships. Jeez. They moved real quick the minute I didn’t need ‘em._ She glanced at the boy again, grimacing against his stench. _We did all the work._

The door slid open and green-faced shadows flooded in four at a time. They spread out and began to line the path towards the three of them until twenty Horde troopers made a corridor from one end to the other.

_Wait,_ she thought as her eyes adjusted. _Those aren’t regular troopers._

The nearest soldiers wore armor much sleeker than the bulky gear of her regiment. The line to her left displayed their right shoulders were emblazoned with a stylized Horde symbol. It was gold and the batwings acted as the flukes of an anchor.

“Horde Marines?” she whispered, “here, now!?” She blinked and woke up enough to question Scorpia. “Did you say ‘Admiral’ earlier?”

“Admiral Leech showed up last,” Scorpia said, taking a space to her right side, and looking as concerned as ever, “but he seems to be kinda running the show, keeping everything relaxed. Or, well, he’s trying to...”

“‘Showed up last’?” Catra asked. Before she could question further, a line of marines marched, stoic and powerful, up to the last step then turned sharply out to face the square, blocking the stairway. A squat figure waddled into the room.

“Ah,” a warbly basso voice said, “the Force Captain Catra. A great relief to see you alive.” The shortest person stood in the front, exuding the most authority. He stood a little shorter than her was was twice her width.

A portly, amphibious man of a species she didn’t recognize. His belly billowed out his sharp, Horde Admiral’s uniform like a black sail trimmed with gold. The shoulder cape, black with a red Horde-anchor symbol, gave him an asymmetrical girth. 

“Bout time,” Catra said, ignoring the voice in her head that spoke with Shadow Weaver’s voice, always warning her to be subordinate, “so what took her so long?” Leech’s lips, huge and aqua-green, turned downwards in a frown.

“Whom do you speak of, Force Captain?” 

“Shadow Weaver,” Catra huffed, “surprised she’s not here already. Where’s she been?” She shivered at the memory of the creature, ‘Dark Dream’, floating in her mind. It had been magic for certain. Shadow Weaver had to know what it was. Frankly, she probably had something to do with it. 

“No one has been able to reach her for some time,” Admiral Leech said, voice a strange, watery bubble, “we are…still awaiting orders.” An unexpected thrill of terror ran through Catra’s heart.

_Shadow Weaver…dead?_ The idea should not have made her feel so afraid. She shook her head, burying her reaction under all the sarcasm she could muster. “Great, so nobody is going to be any help today,” she spat, “what’s going on out there, Admiral? Cuz I can’t imagine it was anything worse than the night _I’ve_ had.” Scorpia gulped audibly next to her and the marines around them tensed. Admiral Leech simply shrugged his shoulders, the fringe of his epaulettes on them swaying as he did so.

“Exactly what I, and others, hope to learn from you, Force Captain,” he glanced backwards at a sudden shout from the square outside. “I’ll give you the room for a moment. But then I must insist you come outside. Explanation may not wait more than sixty seconds.”

Catra was caught off-guard to see the Admiral depart without another word, his marines dutifully shuffling out with him. That had been different than her usual experience with Horde officers. Far fewer explicit threats of death, if any what-so-ever.

“Scorpia, explain.” She glared when she found Scorpia leaning down to try and look at the boy in her arms. “Forget him for a second. What happened?”

“Ok, short version. So you ran into the throne room and I started panicking. Pacing. Talking myself up into following you-”

“Short version?” Catra narrowed her eyes. Scorpia glanced nervously outside.

“About two seconds after you went in here, people started showing up! Crazy fast. The 4th Expeditionary Division. The Castle Condor Air-Regiment. They all have their Force Captains here, and I swear, I thought they were gonna start fighting each other! Then Admiral Leech came in, and he started talking everyone down.” Catra’s ears flattened.

“Just like that,” she mumbled as she realized the implications, “how? What happened exactly?” Scorpia looked up, tapping her chin in thought.

“Well, a whole battalion of medics started shoving through everybody, yelling stuff…hurtful stuff at times, to people who can’t help being born broad and tall.”

“Scorpia…”

“I mean if someone would’ve just told me where to stand instead of shouting...”

“Focus,” Catra said, “tell me, did the marines come in right after?” Scorpia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at her accuracy. “Yup. Just what I thought. Right through the holes the medics punched into the crowd. Faster than you can say ‘military coup’ I’ll bet.” Catra rose to her feet, grimacing. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

“For what?” Scorpia said. “Why’s everyone so worked up?” Catra adjusted her grip on the boy, groaning as he unconsciously nuzzled his stinky hair against her shoulder.

“To figure out if Lord Hordak’s dead or not.”

When they stepped onto the stairwell overlooking Horde Square, Catra smiled a little as she was proven right. Two tanks, spray-painted with hazard-yellow fours on the tread skirts, had their muzzles trained on the doorway. Troopers milled about on the floor, resting on or next to Chainsaws, the obnoxiously loud motorbikes favored by the scouting and rapid-assault regiments. Above them, Eleberonian troopers used their natural gift of flight to fill the sky like black-armored fairies, bolstered by two or three airships.

Marines stood at each of the four corners of Horde Square, overwhelmingly the most numerous of the present factions. Catra couldn’t help admiring the small Admiral Leech for his careful maneuvering. Show up last, show up with the most firepower. Sheer numbers gave him an advantage. 

Shadow Weaver was nowhere in sight, as the Admiral had said. She felt a fresh wave of concern for the old witch’s health. _Ugh. Stop! She doesn’t care about you, why should you care about her?_

“Catra?” Scorpia was a bundle of nerves next to her, intimidated by the sheer number of people, not to mention weapons and heavy ordinance, directed up at them. Catra forced herself into the present, focusing her remaining strength. She had a very long journey to her quarters in front of her.

“Soak it in,” she managed to purr, “we are the most important people in the Fright Zone right now.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t like it,” Scorpia said, “it feels like they can’t figure out if they should kill us or not!”

“Yeah,” Catra grinned, “like I said, most important people in the Fright Zone.” Catra began her descent, biting back the urge to rest her ankle. A clearing had formed in the center of the small army for the wounded to be organized and attended to by a battalion of Horde medics.

_They’re gonna be working late tonight too._ As they passed through the throng, she could feel the eyes shifting from her face to the boy in her arms. A few of the flying regiment actually descended in altitude for a better view, but seemed wary of the marines holding command over the square. Admiral Leech was looking rather bored and annoyed as another figure barked at him. 

She was dressed in motorcycle leathers, black with bright red accents on the shoulder, elbow, and knee padding. Her helmet and the large Force Captain’s shield stylized on her back, clashed horribly. They featured a reflective silver Horde insignia on a caution-yellow field, the better to be seen while riding in the dark. Admiral Leech gestured and the Force Captain turned to face Catra, flicking the visor of her helmet up. A strip of deep olive skin tensed as stormy-grey eyes narrowed.

“About friggin time,” the Force Captain called, storming over. Catra bristled as the woman, who was half-a-foot taller than her and expressed zero respect for her personal space, leaned in close enough for them to touch noses. “This is it? You’re just a kid! I thought we were waiting on a Force Captain.” Her badge was worn upside down like a watch on the wrist of a prosthetic left hand. She tapped her right foot, also a prosthetic, and shook her head. 

“He alive?” Catra glanced at the kid, nodding. The woman scoffed. “Jeez, gotta really hold your hand, huh? I’m talking ‘bout _our boss,_ junior-grade. That clear enough for you?” Catra’s first five responses were cut off by an approaching drone like the wings like a giant insect. 

A tall air-trooper descended on thin scaled wings that vibrated rapidly to keep the soldier airborne. Catra wondered at the need for it. Most Horde air-troopers were chosen from the moth-folk found near Elberon. The wings he sported were fake, attached to a compact metal square on his upper back, and they warbled slowly to a halt as his boots touched the ground.

He had the right uniform. A thickly insulated oil-black flight-suit, woll padded at the neck and cuffs,, tightened and bundled up so not an inch of skin was exposed. Blood-red gloves and boots. His helmet seemed less than standard issue, however. Painted to match his gloves, it was a triangular shape with an odd, tapering muzzle that made her think uncharitably of a proboscis. A small tube went from under the chin into his neck. His Force Captain’s Badge, Black symbol on red, was on a collar around his neck. 

“Can’t stop making friends, huh, Dragstor?” the new arrival said. There was an odd insectoid-whine to his deep voice that Catra realized came from a voice prosthesis. That helmet must’ve been hiding a seriously damaged face.

“Don’t listen to gas-guzzler here, she’s just bitter she missed a fight,” he addressed the other Force Captains before turning the black-bubble eye-lenses on Catra, “Mosquitor, Force Captain of the Castle Condor Air-Regiment, reporting. What’s the situation?”

Catra felt, for a moment, the full weight of power her words would carry. She’d have this advantage until she finished speaking. She had to make it count.

“Listen up,” she said, raising her voice against the sudden silence in the square, the medics alone still made any noise as they went about their work, “Lord Hordak is alive.”

“Aww, sorry, Dragstor,” Mosquitor buzzed, “I know you must be disappointed. Drove in all the way from the flats for bupkis.” Dragstor gave Mosquitor the high-hand salute. “You’re all class, hu?”

“The intruder has been dealt with,” Catra nodded at the boy, “and Hordak has, personally, placed him in my custody.” She saw the way each commander glanced at the tiny, sleeping child in her arms. “I’m responsible for him.”

“ _Lord_ Hordak,” Admiral Leech burbled meaningfully, “gave you orders personally? And for the rest of us? What are we to make of all this, Force Captain Catra?” 

“Catra’s telling the truth,” Scorpia butted in, Catra ground her teeth in frustration, “I believe her.” Like spectators at a tennis match, the officers turned to her in unison. 

“Go knock on his door,” Catra said quickly, grabbing hold before anyone else could interject, “ask him yourself. Word of warning, the last thing he said to me was literally ‘get out or die’.” 

“I really don’t like your attitude, kid,” Dragstor growled, “some sergeant didn’t smack you around enough when you were tiny.”

“So what? You gonna try and fill in for ‘em now… gaz-guzzler?” Catra smirked at the way Dragstor sputtered at that. 

“Easy now,” Mosquitor said, “we’re all just a little anxious. Sand Valley got a general alert, then it started fading in and out.” His helmet dipped as he looked at the kid. “So, that’s…She-Ra?”

“No,” Catra snorted, “the kid, he’s…well. That's a need to know.” Four pairs of eyes drilled into her and she stood her ground resolutely. “Lord Hordak gave me the kid and I’m looking after him. All I can say.”

“Need to know,” Dragstor grunted, “you’ve been a Force Captain, what? A month? Less than that, right? You don’t tell us what’s need to know, junior-grade. Scorpia told us what he is. Why would anyone trust him with someone as grass-green as you? You’re lying, kid.”

  
  


“Well, if you’d been here on time, you woulda seen the truth yourself,” Catra said the words before appreciating their impact. Dragstor actually stepped forward, prosthetic hand rising briefly like she’d throw a right hook. 

“There was mustering,” Leech said, “and arming our troops to consider.”

“Not a soldier here isn’t ready to go to war for our home, Force Captain,” Mosquitor said firmly, “we answered the call. Same as you.”

“If you’re even _thinking_ of saying any of us lagged on purpose,” Dragstor trailed off into a furious silence before adding, “we rode from the Northern Perimeter Outpost in record time! Where’d you come from, huh? Some bed in your quarters I’m guessing!”

“Hopefully Lord Hordak understands that,” Catra taunted. There was no retreating now. She pressed further, seeing ground opening up before her. “Like I said. He’s up there. If you want to talk to him yourselves, that’s your funeral. I’ve had a busy night. And I got more stuff to do. So if we’re done, I’d like to get to it.”

There was a long silence as the commanders weighed her words. Catra could feel the army around them holding its breath, ready to act on whatever orders came down. She had no backup plan if they decided to jump her. Either this bluff would work, or it wouldn’t. A small, shrill beeping surprised them all. Their badges were a bright red and began emitting Lord Hordak’s voice a moment later. The speakers around them, and throughout the Fright Zone, sounded in perfect sync, like Hordak’s voice was filling the whole world.

“All is well,” Lord Hordak said, dispassionately and, to Catra’s ears, nowhere near as injured or exhausted as he’d sounded a few moments ago, “return to your normal operating patterns. The Horde continues its mission. All is well.” 

_It’s a recording._ Catra thought, eyes widening. She watched the other officers slowly coming to terms with that and waited for the storm to break or evaporate. The air-troopers slowly took V-Formation, the marines shuffled a little tighter together, and the fast-attack riders mounted up slowly. 

“Well!” Scorpia said loudly, grinning. “That’s a relief! Right, everybody?” 

“Yeah,” Force Captain Mosquitor said after a moment, “sure is. Alright, I’m going back to Sand Valley. Can’t leave Castle Condor for two seconds without something happening.” He spoke, his badge lightning up without him touching it, “Lieutenant Riza, get the sergeants into formation. We’re flying home.” He nodded to his colleagues. “Admiral, Force Captains...gaz-guzzler.”

“Go head and get caught in a sandstorm for me, Mosquitor,” Dragstor growled. Mosquitor’s wings extended and began to hum once more. Before he lifted off he turned to Catra.

“Good luck, Force Captain Catra.”

_What’s that supposed to mean?_ She watched him rise into the air and gather his troopers like a queen insect leading its swarm. Dragstor barked into the badge on her wrist.

“Pagan, get the tanks out of here.” With efficient, practiced speed the Horde armor backed up, rotated and made for the Northern Gateway. “As for you, junior-grade, don’t ever let me catch out on the flats when I’m patrolling.” She got in Catra’s face. “Might mistake you for a sand-rat and run you over.” She reached out and caught a strand of the boy’s hair, yanking it slightly. He mumbled and shook his head, still sleeping. Catra didn’t have her hands free enough to stop her.

“Guess I’ll see this kid again when they…y’know...,” she drew her prosthetic hand across her throat, “maybe you’ll get more ‘personal orders’ for that too.”

She raised her right hand, held up four fingers, and then made a grabbing motion twice. A horrible wave of roaring noise filled the square as her scouting squads revved their engines. She strode back to her Chainsaw, threw one leg over it and slid into place. She flipped the visor down closed but Catra could feel her glaring through the thin it. Dragstor revved the modified handle twice and popped a wheelie as she led her troops after the tanks she’d dismissed.

The boy mumbled in Catra’s arms, shifting himself around to get comfy. Admiral Leech simply looked over the medics still attending the wounded and his wide mouth straightened.

“I will remain here. Until the wounded have been taken care of. Force Captain Catra, your detachment is being sent to Infirmary 23.”

“Cool, sure,” Catra muttered, looking past him to the doorway to the South Eastern Wing. It took everything in her power to not collapse then and there. She was almost through and then everything that needed to be done could be done tomorrow. After blessed sleep.

“Hey, maybe let me take him, Catra,” Scorpia said, reaching out, “I can tell your ankle is-”

“I’m fine,” she growled, “follow me if you’re coming with me but don’t stop me.” The marines parted, watching her impassively from behind their green visors. A realization crept into her mind as they began to make their way out of Horde Square. Marines flanked them for another hundred yards then dwindled away. Catra turned a sharp right to take the bot corridors back towards her quarters, wanting to avoid any further distractions.

The red light and the close walls reminded her unpleasantly of Hordak’s bizarre air-stealing machine. Her heart-beat picked up and she felt herself breathing harder to compensate for the sudden fear of airlessness. Tiny fingers curled into the stretchy material of her shirt and acted as a reminder.

_I’m alive._ She thought. _I’m safe._ She glanced down at the sleeping face. _We’re safe. Well, for now._

It was odd how the weight in her arms, much as it pained her shoulder, gave her something to focus on, anchoring her in the moment. Away from the noise and the danger, she found herself thinking about the boy and the monumental implications of his powers.

_Another She-Ra. Are there more? Where are they coming from? What does he have to do with Adora?_ **_Does_ ** _he even have anything to do with Adora?_ She grinned slowly, remembering the frantic, but certain, way that the warrior had agreed to her deal. _Now I just gotta hold up my end of the bargain and get that sword back to you somehow._

“Awwwww,” Scorpia squealed quietly, “Catra, you look so sweet when you hold him like that and smile. You’re glowing!” Catra flinched at the word ‘cute’ like it was rearing cobra.

“There’s red lights everywhere,” she snapped, “ _the hallway_ is glowing!” There was a mumble from the child and then a gasp. Catra looked down and found wide, sleepy blue eyes staring at her through dirty hair. “Oh shoot. Go back to sleep. Don’t freak out!” Her eyes darted to Scorpia. “Help!”

“Ah?” The boy started wriggling, taking in the strange, ominously lit corridor around them with little noises of alarm. “Ah!”

“Hmmm,” Scorpia hummed, “Oh! Catra! Just gently run your fingers through his hair.” Catra looked at her like she just suggested they go start a business in the Crimson Wastes. “Trust me. I know what’s gonna calm and soothe him. I’ve got this.” She winked.

“His hair is so…why can’t you do it?” Catra asked, mortified at the idea. Scorpia smiled and held out her dark red pincers. “Right. Nevermind.” She grunted as she felt bare feet brace against her stomach and push hard. “Stop squirming, kid! Relax! Hey!”

“Catra,” Scorpia said steadily, “he’s just scared. Alright? It’ll calm him, I promise.” Catra grumbled at the sheer unfairness of it all and, feeling the boy slipping free, sat down to fix her hold on him. She slipped a hand around the right side of his face, grimacing at how sticky his hair was on her fingers. It was like a mass of spiderwebs. She stroked her hand through his hair and he yelped loudly as she pulled at about a dozen matted knots.

“Ah!” He shook his whole body to break her grip. His eyes were bleary and he seemed to swim in and out of sleep as he moved but he’d be fully awake in a few seconds, and Catra’s life would become that much harder.

“Oh, great idea!” Catra snapped at Scorpia. She unwound her hand, wincing at how he cried out when she pulled his hair by accident. “Just stop freaking out!”

“Catra,” Scorpia said quickly, keeping her voice low, “Yelling’s just gonna scare him more! Calmness. Caaalmness. Patiently and carefully. Try again, just…pet him!”

She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, certain everyone in the Fright Zone would round the corner in a second, and pressed her palm to his crown. She gave a few feather-light strokes, fingers angled to keep from tangling in his hair.

“Good,” Scorpia said, “now we talk to him.”

“H-how? What am I supposed to say?”

“It’s ok,” Scorpia said to the boy, “it’s alright. See? We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“So long as you don’t freak out,” Catra mumbled, “it’s ok you little…grease… child. It’s ok.” Her petting pushed his hair back over his shoulder and unveiled a wide pair of ears. His eyes found hers. She fought the urge to gag at his overpowering smell and kept stroking. “It’s ok.” She felt his heart-beat slowing, her own setting a matching pace, and watched his pupils shrinking like black islands vanishing into a blue sea. “It’s ok.”

A soft mezzo then entered the air of the corridor.

“From the dusty mesa,” Scorpia sang, in a low, careful pace, pronouncing each lyric, “Her looming shadow grows. Hidden in the branches of the desert creosote.” Catra’s ears flattened and she resisted the urge to groan out loud. Of course Scorpia was singing. The boy turned his head and smacked her in the face with a bushel of his nasty hair. She felt her gorge rise in her throat, but heroically kept petting his scalp as Scorpia sang.

_This kid is cleaning himself ASAP. I’ll need to get him soap._ She bit back a yelp as his tunic rubbed on her arm like steel wool. _Clothes too. Ugh. Remember, this will get you a She-Ra. Your own She-Ra! Ugh. His hair is a mess! Like he dipped it in oil and tried mopping the floor with it._

“I came walking with the wind,” Scorpia crouched, looking into the boy’s with a growing fondness, “to watch the cactus bloom. So rise with me forever, across the silent dunes. And the wind will be my voice. And your eyes will be the moons.”

She hummed the tune onward, a grin splitting across her face. Catra felt the boy relax against her chest, head lolling into place on her left shoulder. Her eyes watered even as she realized he’d fallen back to sleep. He stank like a giant armpit.

“I,” she whispered, “wanna all kinds of barf. This kid smells sooo bad.” Scorpia leaned forward, a reluctant curiousness on her face and sniffed. She tried to hide her wincing. Catra shook her head, parsing out the stink into its component smells. “Oh, please, you’re getting off easy. I can smell… every kind of gross on him! Animals, body odor, some... things I don’t wanna even _think_ about while I’m holding him, and…and…” a pungent, coppery smell had stood out. Her voice trailed off as she recognized it. She glanced at the sleeping face and felt an unfamiliar twinge of sympathy.

“And?” Scorpia asked, pincer over her nose as she backed away a few steps.

“And blood,” she said, voice softer than a moment before, “a lot of old, blood smells.” Scorpia’s pincer fell to her mouth to cover a gasp. Her eyes were big and concerned. 

“Poor little guy. Being a kid is hard enough without… _blood smells_. He must’ve been terrified when he came out!”

“Hey, don’t forget this is the big guy’s _other half,_ or whatever. And he’s a little scrapper too,” Catra said, her nose stinging with the memory of a head-butt, “so don’t count him out.” With peace restored a question rose in her mind and out her mouth. “What am I even gonna do with him?”

“I mean,” Scorpia said, looking uncomfortable, “Hordak said he was your prisoner, right? But then again… you’re not gonna put him in, like, an actual cell or something, right?” Catra rolled her eyes.

“Why not? He’s magic. He’s dangerous. Doesn’t keeping him in a cell sound safest?”

“He’s so little,” Scorpia countered sadly, eyes huge with tenderness, “he doesn’t look like he’d be much trouble.” Unbidden, Catra remembered the look on Adora’s face as she made her decision, back at the Battle of Thaymor, the Horde’s retreat acting like a chaotic painting background in her mind. She remembered the emptiness of her hand when Adora ripped her arm free of her. The emptiness that had spread through her body to her stomach and then her heart.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Catra said, “we definitely can’t put him with any of the kids his age. That will end badly.” Scorpia crept closer and brushed a pincer along the hem of his tunic, frowning mightily.

“This doesn’t seem very comfortable,” she said, “and his legs are so skinny, even for a little kid.”

“He’s definitely underweight,” Catra found herself saying, thinking about how light he was. A fire burned in Scorpia’s eyes as she looked the boy over. “What’s with you?” She cradled the child closer on instinct.

“Who could've let this happen to a kid?!” Scorpia whined. “How could someone _do this_ ? Who’d send him here to get beat up and not even give him _socks_? It’s so awful.” She took a deep breath, gagged a little and backed away. “And so smelly, poor thing. Who are his parents? Where’d he come from?”

“From straight outta nowhere,” Catra said, suddenly wondering that, “now that I think about it, the big guy was angry about some machine in Hordak’s lab… and he did seem to freak out when we said he was on Etheria…ugh, what?” Scorpia had gasped dramatically and gotten lost in contemplative thought.

“Maybe…maybe he’s _not_ from Etheria,” Scorpia finally said. Catra rolled her eyes.

“So what, he fell off one of the moons? Where there’s no people? Or air? Or anything?” Scorpia waved her pincers frantically.

“No no no,” she said, “I mean…from another _dimension_.” Catra stared at her for a full minute, her expression not changing.

“Scorpia,” she whispered, “I say this a lot, but this time I mean it. That is. The single most idiotic thing I have ever heard in my life.”

“Aw,” Scorpia winced, “come on. Ever?” Catra got slowly to her feet, which was difficult to do when your arms are holding a sleeping ten-year-old child, and nodded.

“Ever.”

“So where did he come from then? He had to come from somewhere on Etheria.” Catra let the boy’s head rest on her shoulder, finally able to shut her nose off and breath through her mouth.

“Who knows,” she said, her voice low and nasally, “more questions for when he wakes up. Which I would like to happen only when he’s not able to head-butt me again. So let’s keep moving. He’s staying with me.”

“Not in a cell?” Scorpia asked hopefully.

“No. Not in a cell, you wuss,” Catra said, “if someone else takes the kid to Hordak before I can, this’ll all be for nothing. I need to make a case for him first. I’ll just... keep an eye on him myself, I guess.” She hated the flash of concern that idea still summoned in her. “I am so tired. I feel like this morning was last year.”

“Ho yeah,” Scorpia snickered, walking behind her and leaning down to look at the boy, “this one seems pretty tuckered out too. He's kinda cute, honestly.” Catra scoffed. “What? Oh, come on. You must think so too!”

“I don’t,” Catra said, “listen Scorpia, this isn’t just us playing babysitter for fun. It’s a matter of _investment_. The big guy and I made a deal. I look after the boy, and he fights for me. So long as we do, this kid could be our ticket to the top.” She grimaced at the thought of how her using ‘we’ just then was probably thrilling Scorpia, but if she needed her help anyway, this would have to work. “Here on out, I need you to do whatever necessary to help me keep that promise. AND keep this between the two of us. Okay?” Scorpia saluted.

“Yes, ma’am, Operation Boy From Nowhere is a go,” she said. Catra groaned at the name. “How can I help? I can sing to him again!” Catra hissed, pressing a finger to her lips and glancing meaningfully at the sleeping child.

“ **No** , no more singing,” Catra said, “that was a one time thing. You wanna help go ahead without me and set a cot up in my room.” Scorpia beamed with excitement. “For the _kid._ Not you.”

“Oh,” Scorpia said, “yeah. Can I go after that? Or do you need me more?” Catra snorted, a cruel smirk playing across her face.

“You have somewhere else to be?” She asked.

“Well, I wanna head back to Horde Square and help them out with the wounded,” Scorpia looked sad again, “there’s a lot, to be honest, and some of them seem like they’re still havin' a fit.” She gulped and looked around them, eyeing the red shadows warily. “That…that thing did something to them.” Catra shuddered, suddenly remembering Dark Dream and the way it had escaped.

_Is it watching us?_ She thought. _Is it following us?_

“What’d it do to you?” Catra asked, hoping to take her mind off her fear. Scorpia’s face twisted a few times, uncomfortable. “That… thing we fought. How bad was it for you?” Scorpia suddenly looked empty of her usual sunniness. 

“It was about my mom,” Scorpia managed, “how she died.” Catra glanced at her, confused. “My _other_ mom, I mean. Sadrafa.”

“You have another…had another...I mean,” Catra felt guilty, this time for someone she barely knew, which was new and unpleasant. She rushed to say anything, “You don’t have to tell me anything else.” 

“Thanks,” Scorpia smiled sadly, “but, if you want to talk about how you’re feeling though. What it said to you-”

“No,” Catra’s voice was icy and it was as if a yawning chasm was opening in the floor between them, “I don’t want to. **Don’t** bring it up anymore.”

“I just…I mean you asked-”

“I didn’t ask you to take care of me!” Scorpia shushed her reflexively, looking down at the kid. Catra’s teeth bared. “And don’t tell me how to do this,” she whispered, “ I know, ok?”

“Sorry,” Scorpia said, looking away, “But hey. Whatever it said to you, Catra, it doesn’t know you. Not the real you.”

“Ugh. I don’t even remember what it said,” Catra lied, “so it's not like I need a pep talk. Now please, go take care of that cot. You can get lost after that, do whatever you want.”

“Sure,” Scorpia came closer and Catra feared she’d try to go for a hug, “see you round, ok?” She pressed a pincer to the sleeping boy’s cheek. “And see _you_ later too, little guy. Sleep tight!”

“Why are you the only person I can count on?” Catra groaned. Scorpia winked with pure joy at the sound of those words.

“Cuz we’re best friends!” She marched away before Catra could snarl at her. 

Adora woke in a dark, empty space. There was a golden thread glowing in the air for the barest moment and the feeling of something pressing on her mind from the outside. Brief flashes of fear that began to double themselves inside her heart. She felt a strange, overwhelming _connection_ to something else.

She was dimly aware that she was dreaming.

A weight filled her arms, whimpering. A sudden shock came over her from the outside force, surprise and alarm spearing into the bubble of peace that her sleeping mind enjoyed.

Her arms wrapped around the figure and curled up around it. It was small. Much smaller than her. She was almost wrapped around it in a fetal hug with her whole body.

_You’re safe._ She thought…or said…or felt? There was something to this dream place that made her feel doubled in every way. It played on her deepest instincts and understanding. Here was someone in need of help.

_Remember, cadets,_ she thought of an old sergeants voice, _remember that the Horde’s mission is to help Etheria. Always!_ Stranger and stranger. Those thoughts, in the waking world, always brought her so much conflict. Here was different, here she knew deep down what she wanted and who she was. No She-Ra. No Rebellion. Just Adora.

_I want to help. You’re safe. I’m here to help._

The other presence hesitated for a moment before squeezing her tightly. Emotions flooded her from the outside presence. Wonder, hope, and growing curiosity that filled her heart. The two emotional fonts swirled and mingled like they’d never been separate.

It was feeling understood in its purest forms. Adora was surprised to find that you can cry in a dream.

_Thank you._ The other presence thought it or maybe she did. She couldn’t tell the difference anymore, it was a unified entity of gratitude and peace.

“Mdormph,” someone muttered. Adora’s dream shattered like a black window and revealed the reality just beyond it. She was on the floor, curled up in her sleeping bag, between Bow and Glimmer, where they’d fallen asleep after insisting on staying together to, as Bow had put it, ‘fight the nightmares together’. 

A bleary brown eye peeked through her fingers. Her right hand was cupped carefully over Bow’s whole face. Adora blinked rapidly.

“Sorry,” she whispered, shoving her hands in her pockets and rolling onto her back. Glimmer didn’t stir from her spot, snoring loudly.

She couldn’t remember what she’d been dreaming about. But something about reaching her hand out had felt so familiar that she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d done it before, once, a very long time ago. She dozed off before she could think anymore and dreamed no more that night.

  
  
  
  


Catra watched the boy’s left hand crinkle into the thin blanket Scorpia had left atop the meager white cot. He was small. And seemed even smaller laid out before her like this. She walked out of her room, feeling invisible hooks dragging her towards her bed as the hallway swam around her.

“Almost,” Catra murmured as she made her way through the halls towards Barracks 34, “almost done. Just a little more walking, then I can sleep.” Years of familiarity carried her feet along ruts and divots in the concrete until she passed into the barracks, frowning at the sudden smell that hit her.

Before Adora left the barracks was a place of stale sweat and, once a week, the dull carpet scent of ‘freshly’, to abuse a word, laundered sheets. Now she couldn’t stop thinking that the smell that overpowered them all was the sharp tang of boot polish and the wretchedly soothing tickle of lavender. Adora’s scent. 

“Lavender,” Catra grumbled, making her way to her old bunk, “what even is that? Probably some kind of magic potion Shadow Weaver cooked up for her. Lavender. _Purple goop._ Adora’s _special_ so she gets _special goop_.” She dug through personal drawers at the foot of the bed. Untouched since Adora had left for the Whispering Woods. It opened with a screech of rusty metal.

“Shoot!” She whispered, ducking low for a moment to remain unseen. She remembered then that her whole barracks was, at this point, in the infirmary. She took in the dead-quiet with a feeling of eerie deja-vu. When she was small she would sneak in here to be alone, where she could hide beneath a blanket and cry.

She’d pretend that, when her tears had dried, she’d emerge from her little cocoon not in the Fright Zone but somewhere else where nobody would ever call her names or yell at her. Most times, Adora found her first.

_There you go again,_ she thought bitterly to herself, _forget her. She had no problem forgetting you._

“Shirt, pants, socks, under-shorts,” Catra said counted off, “wait, he probably doesn’t need socks if he doesn’t have shoes.” She tossed those back into the drawer. “He’ll be swimming in some of this stuff but, oh well. He’s not staying in that gross tunic. Gotta get that thing off him and trash it before it kicks off an epidemic or something.”

She shoved the boot-polish aside, tossed the little wooden brush away to clatter somewhere behind her, and snatched a soap bottle from its neglected corner. She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose at the strength of the scent. So strange, even after years of smelling it.

“I guess it smelled better on her,” she said, then yanked one of her ears, “Ugh! Stop saying things like that out loud...” She assembled her loot next to her and paused at the sight of something of a corner of blocky plastic under Adora’s neatly folded stack of pants. She grinned.

“Oh, yeah,” she purred, “food… ugh, Brown ones? C’mon, Adora! Your busted taste buds are still ruining everything.” Her stomach growled like a jungle cat as she plucked one free. “Whatever, the kid’s a stick, no way he’ll be complaining. I am starving though.” Her fingers pressed on more plastic. She drew a second bar out. “ _Gray one_. Yes!!” She snickered to herself. “Sheesh, Adora, you managed to hustle two of ‘em? For what, a midnight snack? Works in my case, one for me and one for the kid…”

She paused. Two bars. Enough for two people. One her favorite flavor. Her eyes danced between the ration bars in her hands and the bunk-beds before her. Two beds. For two people. She blinked and felt her tears as a warm dampness on her cheeks before she realized she was crying. She nearly crushed the ration bars in her hands, dropping them quickly to hug herself.

She glared into the darkness of Adora's bed, where she used to sleep. Where they both used to sleep. One bed for two people. She finally let her anger burst out when she remembered the barracks was empty and no-one would hear her.

“What did you do to me, Adora? Did you put something on me,” she growled, hiccupping a little, “with magic or something? You’re a princess now, you have magic. What’d you do, Adora? I almost died tonight and all I could think about was you. You. You... _traitor_!” She leapt forward onto the bed, claws unsheathing and digging into a mattress she’d already wrecked long ago. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair I still think about you! And you never, ever think about me!” She tried to keep her head forward, but like destiny itself was twisting her neck, she found her eyes turning to the defaced doodles they’d drawn there. Catra and Adora. Together forever.

“ _You_ left _me!”_ She screamed at it. “ **You** made the choice, Adora, not me! I was loyal, I was a good friend, I came to _save_ you!” She crumpled into the bed, sobbing out the emotions that were pressing against the walls of her heart. She felt her eyes twitching, her breathing going short. “I almost died. Oh, man. I almost died tonight! I couldn’t breathe, and you weren’t here to help me! And I wasted my last breaths... thinking about _you_!”

She buried her face under the blanket. Wondering, if she stayed there long enough, if Adora might find her again.

“Adora,” she whimpered, “if you were dying, who would you be thinking about?” 

Adora dying. Bad image. Her heart beat faster as she remembered the faces of that night. Hordak looking down at her, uncaring while she gasped for breath. The Horde commanders looking down on her, judging her, weighing the cost and benefits of walking straight through her.. She recalled Mosquitor’s last words to her before leaving. _Good luck, Force Captain._

“Well, here I am again. In trouble. Big surprise. In deep over my head… and you’re not here to save me this time. You left me to die alone, Adora, you decided to never come **back**.” She barked the last word while sinking her claws into the bed. “Now I gotta watch my own back forever.”

She pressed her nose into the mattress, wanting to do nothing more than sleep.

“I can’t,” she groaned, “the kid needs his stupid clothes and all the other garbage. He needs me to do that. And I will.” She felt her tears like they were turning hotter and her grief roiled into something angrier. “I will because **that was the deal** . We made a **promise** . And I’m gonna keep _my_ end of the deal. And you, Adora, you're gonna learn you can’t just abandon people.” She emerged from the blanket and glared at the drawing she’d clawed. 

“You’ll see that magic powers and that stupid sword don’t make you so special after all. Yeah, you’ll see. You’ll see She-Ra doesn’t make you special. And when I see that look in your face when you realize it... I’ll never have to think about you again. Ever.”

Catra gathered up her loot and kicked the drawer closed with a loud metal clang.

  
  


The boy yawned loudly as he woke up, smacking his dry lips. He’d need to get a drink from the cistern right away, he felt like he’d climbed every wall and run in circles around the courtyard. It was still dark, he’d feel better with his cub to keep him company. He moved his hand around, searching for warm fur and a heartbeat. 

“Ah? Kskskss.” He glanced around the room, trying to remember where he’d fallen asleep. The blanket slid off his shoulders. His eyes cracked open wide, stinging with lingering sleep, as he realized it all hadn’t been some kind of strange dream. 

He was in a whole new place, with people and with monsters. Bat-faced men who stole air from his lungs, women with the tails of scorpions, black-armored soldiers, red-eyed shadows, and, looming in his mind, a strange cat-eared lady with mis-matched eyes. 

He ran his nails along the taut canvas bed he’d been laid on, briefly fascinated by the sound it made. The dark room took murky shape as his eyes adjusted and he saw walls of sleek metal, dim yellow lights, and furniture that, unlike in the old gray castle, wasn’t rotten and falling apart. 

He reached out to grasp his sword...and found nothing. 

“Ah?” He scurried off the cot, searching vainly for it under the metal frame. Nowhere. 

**Find it!** He jumped, startled, and tiptoed across the strangely textured floor. It was unlike the finely masoned stones of the castle. It was flat and rough on his calloused soles. He ran a hand along the walls, trying to find some kind of door, finally, his hands slipped into a depression that seemed like a thinner part of the wall. 

“Ah?” It made no sense. How was he supposed to get in and out without a handle? Why was the door made of metal too? Could he get out? Was he stuck in here...forever?

“Mmmmm.” **Calm down.** “Ksskssskss.” **The cub is not here.** “Nnn!” **Stay calm! Calm. You have to get free. You...have to...get...f** **r** **e** **e**

“Ah!” The Other One spoke again after a moment of silence, sounding strained.

**You’re very far away from the sword. You’re...** **tir** **ed...** **get free. Fi** **n** **d** **it…**

The Other One was silent after that. The boy began to whimper in the quiet of his own head. He’d never been this alone before in his life. He’d never been without his sword.

He had to find it! He had to find a way out of this room! He threw himself against the metal door, yelping as he impacted.

  
  


Catra brooded the whole way back to her room. She needed to get the kid’s sword back to him for her plan to work. She needed a plan to begin with. She needed sleep, more than anything. She’d collapse into bed and deal with it all in the morning. She got back to her quarters and pressed her hip, where her Force Captain’s badge hung from her belt, into the scanner.

With a digital chirp the doors slid open. She took two steps inside and realized the place had been ripped apart after a vacant scan of the room. The spartan room needed effort to look ransacked but someone had gone the extra mile. The five drawers of her dressers were yanked out, her crimson leotards tossed about the floor. 

The cot was overturned, the blanket hurled into a corner. The bedding on her mattress slipped off and rolled up under her bed.

She walked mechanically to her dresser and placed the items she’d taken from the barracks on top of it. She crouched down and glared at the ball of fabric under her bed.

“Okay, kid. I’m more tired right now than I’ve ever been my whole life. So you’re getting the most laid back version of me that probably exists. That said, you have,” she breathed heavily, “exactly _four seconds_ before I drag you out from under there _by your big ears_.” A muted growl was her answer. “Time’s up.” She reached in, snagged the corner of the bedding, and wrenched the wriggling body out with a snarl. The boy unrolled from his cocoon with both fists flying. Catra made an embarrassingly sharp squeak as one whizzed by her chin. “You’re tiny, kid! It won’t take you long to dig your own grave!”

She snatched his wrists and pulled him up, he growled at her and threw a headbutt, she pulled back. His foot found her stomach. She doubled forward with a howl of rage.

“You better stop,” she growled, “I did NOT risk my neck all night for you to give me this! -NO! Off the bed, right now!” The boy backed up to the wall, face hidden under his hood, hissing with his dry little voice. “Don’t you get it? I’m on your side, stupid! Now _listen to me_! No grimy gremlin feet on the Force Captain’s bed! Down. Now!” She reached out a hand and he lunged forward, snapping his teeth a centimeter from her claws.

Catra was a soldier and had been trained rigorously to react, not hesitate. Her hand snapped backwards and, driven by frustration and instinct swung down to catch the boy’s right cheek with the flat of her palm. The sound was like an old gun-powder firearm shooting off.

She really walloped him. He stumbled, tangled his legs in the bedding and crashed off the foot of her bed with a fall that sounded heavy for such a small body. Immediately, little pained whimpers filled the air, his hands vanished under his hoods to cradle his injuries.

“I didn’t mean to…did you hit your head?” Catra rounded the bed, wincing at the pain in her foot, “I.. I only did that because you- you were...!” Fear of the damage she’d done mixed with the anger of feeling her ambitions falling apart, turning into a dark concoction in her chest. She suddenly found herself feeling like a child again, with the whole squad staring at her. “Y-you started it!” The sound of her voice cracking as she shouted made her want to give up on everything. 

Regret bubbled in her stomach, nearly making her nauseous. Great start to her plan, alright. The big guy must’ve been real happy about that, wherever he was. “Look kid, I get that I’m sending mixed signals here, but I’m the best thing you’ve got right now. Trust me. So you need to just-OW!”

Two feet crashed into her injured foot and took her balance away. She fell onto her behind, tail spasming as the floor jolted her spine. The boy wriggled right back under her bed like a furry purple worm.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it for that kid! Get back out here!” She reached a hand out up to her shoulder. She was done with this, if the kid wanted to play rough she could play rough. He wasn’t much, after all, barely skin and bones.

CHOMP

And teeth.

“Stop!” She yowled, trying to pull her forearm away from his mouth. “Let go! Let go! Stop! You brat! I should be your freaking _hero_ at this point! And this is the thanks I get?!” 

The boy relented and Catra hissed in relief, gingerly holding her arm up. She frowned at the purple crescents bruising up through her fur, then flattened onto her belly and stared at him. He’d burrowed into the far corner of the bed, blue-eyes scorching with defiance. She could see him rub his cheek with a little wince. “This is my thank you?! You bit me!”

“Hssss!” She grabbed the rickety metal frame and shook the whole bed, the springs squeaking loudly. “Ah!” The boy cringed in on himself.

“You better come out right now or…”

_“Or it will be that much worse for you,”_ Shadow Weaver said in her head. Catra froze, raging at the sheer injustice of it all.

“I’m not like that,” she growled, “I’m not!” She let go of the frame and buried her face in her forearms. “This isn’t fair! I don’t deserve any of this! _I’m so tired!_ I can’t…I can’t…”

She glanced up, seeing the boy’s face had changed. He was looking more confused than afraid.

“Nothing,” she said to herself, “forget it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I need sleep. Stay down there if you want. Or go use your cot. Fix it yourself.” She pointed a claw at him, he shrank back. “But I’m a light sleeper, so **don’t** try anything smart.” He crept forward a millimeter, his eyes such a vibrant, clean color that contrasted the rest of him.

“Seriously, kid, I saved your life, she said, “like, a couple times. You owe me. And I’m gonna make sure you understand that.” She realized, as shades of animal wariness crossed his face, that he didn’t understand her at all. “You… you don’t even know what I’m saying, do you? Can you... even speak?”

“Ah?”

Catra dragged herself up onto her bed and flopped onto it, defeated. She flung her mask off into the far corner of the room. The world was spinning. It was like someone tied sandbags to her arms and legs.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, not quite remembering where she was or who she was speaking to. She just listened to the sound of scared breathing gently slowing down as she mumbled it over and over, until she’d drifted to sleep. 

  
  


…

  
  
  


Author’s Note: 

Scorpia's Lullaby are reworked lyrics from the song 'Far From Any Road' By the Handsome Family.

I cleaned up the lyrics, as it's a dark song, but the desert imagery in it made me think of Scorpia's people.

As always, we hope everyone is safe and healthy in these troubling times. Black Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter.  
  
Thanks for reading, and to Hector for editing. 


	8. Do No Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra upholds her end of the bargain while mulling over plans for the future, but the language barrier between him and the boy only frustrates things. Scorpia’s excellence as a Force Captain leads to her getting a nice surprise.

Catra rushed down the bot corridors, the great, blue sword clasped to her body and an army of voices trailing behind them.

“Here let me take him.”

“Kill him. Do not kill him. I do not care!”

“That’s…She-Ra?”

“Help him…please.”

“I said ‘I’ve got him!’” She roared. The walls shrank inward, the red lights glowed until the filaments in them became long trails of red lightning, lashing her body. She curled around the sword and tumbled forward, guarding her prize. She didn’t care that she would slice her arms open on the blade. So long as they all just stayed away!

She needed it. She needed it for her plan to get Adora back.

“To get  _ back  _ at Adora!” She snarled to herself. The red lights glowed hotter and her breathing thinned to little puffs of rage.

_ She left you.  _ A black shadow formed amidst the red light, its eyes two angry slits glowing white one moment and killer red the next.  _ She knew how cruel you could be. _

“I’m not like that!” She hissed against the vanishing air. “I saved him! I wanted to save her!” The burden in her hands yipped with fright and started squirming. “Hey!” She blinked rapidly and saw the boy in place of the sword. “Where is it?! What’d you do with it?!” She grabbed the front of his tunic, shaking him. “Tell me! Right now!”

“Nnnn!” He tried to squirm free and Catra slapped him hard across the face. She reared her hand back and swung again, the boy caught her forearm in his teeth and bit down hard. She wrenched her arm free and slapped him again.

“You little animal,” she hissed. The child cried out in terror pulling his hood down tight over his face. “Look at me! Look at me!” The boy squirmed away, squeezing into a hole in the wall, blue-eyes scorching at her from the dark. “You better come out right now or-”

“B-by the Power of Grayskull!” She saw a glint of blue metal and shoved her arm into the duct up to her elbow, searching for the feel of cold metal.

“Give me the sword,” she yelled, “I need it! It’s mine!”

“By the Power of Grayskull!” Lightning blasted her backwards, burning away the red light and melting a hole in the wall that spread until the Fright Zone was turned to molten metal and then to nothing. Trees loomed high overhead, a figure stood before her, radiant, its long golden hair caught in the wind.

She-Ra looked down on her, a sneer on her perfect face.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra snarled, grinning madly, “I have a surprise for you!”

“Eyes,” She-Ra growled, her voice someone else’s, “See. You.”

“Do you like what you see?” Catra leapt forward, claws unsheathing. She’d rip her apart with her bare hands if she had to. “And then I’ll never think about you again!” She passed through She-Ra like the warrior was made of mist.

“See. You.” She-Ra held the boy in her arms, cradled protectively against her shoulder. “Evil.” Catra lunged forward. A broad hand struck her down with a single slap and she went rolling across the forest floor. “Leaving.”

“No…we had a deal! You promised!” Catra struggled to her feet, cradling her cheek, “you can’t leave!” She-Ra’s back turned on her and the boy hid his face in his hood as they both vanished into the treeline. Catra found herself unable to move. She was so tired all of a sudden. So very tired. “Please,” she whispered, cradling her stinging cheek, tears spilling down her face, “I’m not like that…I’m not! I didn’t mean it!”

The forest was silent and empty and lonely. She glanced up and looked around, feeling small and afraid.

“Come back,” she called out, voice weak, “please…come back…I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” She buried her face in her arms, sobbing hard, and heard a gasp before her. She looked up, saw a boy in a hooded tunic staring at her. Catra felt a rush of disbelief and then deep joy.

“You came back?” she wanted to say. 

What she actually said was more along the lines of this:

“Mmo kayme baff?” She lifted her face off the mattress in time to see the boy scurry back under her bed, “wait…oh…oh, right. What time is it?” She swung her legs to the floor as she glanced at the digital clock sunken in the wall above her. “0400 Hours? Ow!” She winced as the slightest pressure irritated her ankle. “Cold compress. Yup, need one. Don’t get excited, stinky, just going to my washroom.”

She stood gingerly, her shoulder and nose politely reminding her that they too were quite sore. The door slid slowly open for her after she waved her hand over the plastic door lock. She felt cold tiles under her feet and winced at the blinding fluorescents as they buzzed to life.

She seldom used the washroom for actual washing, as nice a luxury as it was, since she despised the feeling of wet fur and preferred more traditional feline bathing. Still, the fluffy towels were a godsend at the moment, as was the easy access to water, an often necessary evil. She turned on the spigot and soaked a white face-towel until it was gray and heavy with moisture.

She wrung it out, grimaced at the slimy feel of wet cloth against her fur, and checked her reflection in the personal mirror. She nearly jolted at the sight of a tiny hooded head peeking around the doorway. The boy leaned in, squinting at the bright lights, and Catra saw the harsh red mark on his cheek.

_ I don’t remember hitting him  _ **_that_ ** _ hard.  _ The sting was likely gone, but she had a queasy feeling it might bruise.  _ Well... I wouldn’t have done that if I was thinking straight. Besides… it's not like he never hit  _ **_me_ ** _ last night.  _ She got the towel to a sufficient dampness and took a deep breath. It wasn’t a big deal, in the grand scheme of things, an accident that wasn’t her fault. Not precisely. 

Yet, she couldn’t stop looking at the mark on his cheek.  _ Oh, whatever. He better get used to it anyway. If Hordak even lets him stay, he’ll have plenty more of it in his future.  _ She was awake already, though her fatigue still clawed at her joints with every movement.

“Hey there, ya big booger,” she turned, “come over here and-” the boy bolted from sight, “oh, can we  **not** do this again?!” She limped out into the room, nearly tripping when she saw him crouched by the bed but not hiding yet. “Ok. Ok. Good.”

“Mmm,” the boy said, glancing between her and the bed. She approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the mattress, keeping her back to him the whole time, then nodded to the spot in front of her.

“Come on,” she said, “cooome on.” She grinned and tried to tease him. “What, you scared?” The boy gulped and shrank. “Stupid fangs.” She arranged a toothless smile. “See? I can be nice.”

The boy sidled forward, sticking to the side of the bed like a soldier under sniper fire, gazing at the damp towel in her hand. Catra held out her right hand, offering the towel as a little folded up square of wet cloth. He reached out one hand, eyes wide and cautious, snatched it from her palm and backed up about three feet. Catra laughed.

“Bye,” she giggled, “off you go, faster than lightning.” She tried pantomiming instructions for him. “Go on. Press that to your cheek, it’ll…feel…what are you doing?” The boy pressed the towel to his cracked lips and started sucking the moisture from it. Little slurping noises filled the room and Catra’s mind slowly processed what she was seeing. She rose slowly to her feet, stepping closer to him. “Kid, you don’t have to…annnd there you go again.” She sighed as the towel slapped wetly to the floor and the boy darted under the bed. “This is going great so far.” She plucked the cloth off the floor with the edges of two claws, sticking her tongue out at the potential germs. “You gotta toughen up, kid, cuz there’s a whole world of bad stuff coming your way soon.”

She tossed it into a small hamper and prepared another towel for her ankle, taking a hand-towel for her nose. She perched on the edge of the sink and wrapped her ankle in the cloth, huffing pleasantly at the soothing coldness. She left the faucet to hiss water into the sink for a moment, relaxing to the sound. She didn’t like water, but the noise of it running was oddly pleasant.

“That’s good,” she purred, “so much better.” There was a cry of wonder that made her honk in surprise. The boy bravely stepped into the room, his sheer uncleanliness thrown into stark contrast by the white tiles and bright lights. She noted a little strip of red skin on his nose and cheeks, just under his big, expressive eyes. There was little white peeling off it and she recalled seeing troopers stationed at the Northern Perimeter Outpost getting ‘windburn’ from the cold gusts that blew down from the Northern Reach.

“Oh, hey,” she said, “so why don’t we start with something easy. Your name?”

“Ah!” The boy seemed to have forgotten she was there and tensed to run but kept staring longingly at the running faucet.

“Still thirsty?” Catra snickered. “Yeah I bet. Well? Go ahead. It’s got a gross metal-y taste to it, but it’s free.” She gestured at the faucet and the boy crept forward hesitantly. Catra rolled her eyes and slid herself further from the sink. “I am  **not** getting up for you. Get brave or dehydrate, booger.”

The war that played across his face was almost comically exaggerated. Finally, he pressed his back to the wall, eyes locked suspiciously on Catra, and scooted himself along. With every step the bones on his tunic clicked in a rhythm that made Catra bite back a laugh. Scoot-clack-scoot-clackity-clack!

All at once he jumped forward and cupped his hands under the stream of water.

“Oooooooooo,” he said, wonderstruck at the water’s steady flow. Then he began gulping down big handfuls of water. Water splashed down the front of his tunic, trickling to the floor, and his face was splitting into a huge grin.

“Alright,” Catra leaned forward, “so let’s try and lay some ground rules-pfffft! Hey!” He’d forgotten she was there again and tossed a handful of water right into her face, pressing against the wall. “Seriously?!” She wrenched the faucet off and watched his face fall like a miracle had just been abruptly ended. “What was that for, huh? Do you still not get it? That I’m the only one on your side? That you’d be dead without-” she swallowed her anger and tried to calm down, daubing her face with the hand-towel and grunting. “I’m just... gonna assume that was an accident.” She glanced at the mark on his cheek.

“Oh!” He chirped when she wet the hand-towel under the faucet and wrung it out.

“Come here,” she said, pointing at the spot in front of her. He fiddled with the bones of his tunic, casting a wary eye around the room and determined that he had no better options. He tiptoed forward, gulping audibly as Catra crooked her finger, and carefully rubbed at his sore cheek. She leaned down, paused, and held out an open hand. The boy, wonder growing in his eyes, carefully laid his small palm against hers.

“Now,” Catra said softly, dabbing the cloth on his hand, “see how nice that feels? If you put it here…” she moved extra slow, pressing the square of cloth against his injured cheek. The boy’s eyes fluttered shut and a huge goofy grin split his face.

_ Good, he’s starting to trust me. Next, we need information. If you could just give me something, kid, just a hint of what your deal is, then I’ll have something to show Hordak. We need him to see you’re worth keeping.  _ Thoughts then started to worm in, disturbing her slightly. Though few knew Hordak personally, all knew his temperament. Shadow Weaver, for all her power and rank, was herself quite careful to never cow him.  _ And that's someone he respects... well, kinda. How about someone who tried to  _ **_kill him_ ** _? What am I gonna say that’ll possibly keep him from- _

She noticed then that the boy had pressed his face into her hand, nuzzling into the soothing cloth. She rolled her eyes and gently replaced her hand with one of his. He blinked, looking slightly disappointed but holding the hand-towel onto his cheek all the same.

“Ok, stinky,” Catra said, “you keep doing that. I’m gonna go grab you some soap and then,” she pointed at the shower stall, “you’re gonna go in there and come out a couple pounds lighter , cuz I can’t take your smell!”

“Ah?” the boy asked, still cradling his face to the cloth. Catra shook her head, raised and arm mimed smelling her armpit. The boy mimicked her and winced a little when he sniffed his bare-armpit. An embarrassed flush dusted his cheeks and he shrugged, making a non-committal noise.

“Oh trust me,” Catra said, rising slowly and smiling when he didn’t run off, “you stink.” She grinned and held her nose. “Stinky!” The boy grumbled as she left the washroom. She took the lavender soap off her dresser, eyeing the ration bars hungrily. She sighed and turned away from them.

“Not now. Later, when he’s not a problem anymore. Ugh…I’m such a good person,” she grumbled with utter contempt for herself. Her bangs fell in front of her face and she swept them away with a finger and scratched at her forehead. “Forget how nice it is to go maskless sometimes. Ok, kid, time to….NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

“Ah!” The boy stumbled backwards from the toilet where he’d been splashing one hand in the basin. He dropped the towel and his whole demeanor shifted. He glared at her, shrinking into a corner and hissing. Catra’s lip curled over her fangs and she felt a growl build in her throat.

Then she hissed like a mad tigress. The kid’s eyes shrank in terror and he curled up into a trembling ball of purple fur.  _ Think you’re scary, kid?  _ She thought smugly.

She advanced with a snarl and stopped short when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Blue eye and gold eye flickering with action, all sharp fangs bared in a mocking smile, fur bristled to increase her size, and tension in every muscle in her body like she was about to spring. She was normally proud at how scary she could make herself look. Here, she sensed it was working against her. 

_ Of course you scared him,  _ her bitter thoughts turned on her,  _ he doesn’t even know what a toilet is! What must he think of you? Things can’t go on like this, Catra, you gotta try something different or he’ll fight you every chance. Come on! You’re taking over Etheria, you can handle one little kid.  _

“Look,” she said, the boy stopped whimpering and glanced slowly out from his hood, “I’m sure this is all very weird and very spooky to you,” she paused, crouching down smoothing her fur down, “but I'm trying to make this clear. That?” She pointed at the toilet and shook her head emphatically. “Is not for playtime.”

The boy shook his head back at her, mimicking her once more, confusion on his face. She wanted to give up and go back to bed but…he was dirty. He needed to clean himself and get into fresh clothes and have something to eat. She had to help him do that. That was the deal. 

_ That’s my ticket. The deal I made with the big guy. The deal will keep him alive. Hopefully me too, while he’s at it. _

“That,” she pointed at the sink, nodding, “is…fine, I guess. Somebody somewhere else won’t be able to brush their teeth today but whatever. Go buck wild, but  _ please _ don’t flood the place.” The boy pointed at the sink and nodded then at the toilet and shook his head. A serious expression of thought came over his face. “Wow. This is the life I’m living, huh?” Catra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Teaching a magic ten-year-old not to play in the toilet a couple hours after he knocked me off my feet.” The boy moved. “What are you doing?”

He marched to the toilet, a serious expression on his face, and shook his head. Then, turning on his heel, he strode to the sink nodding. He looked at Catra, reaching a hand out slowly and turning the spigot on.

_ How did he…when I wet the cloth earlier. He was watching me that closely? Alright, so maybe you’re sharper than I’m giving you credit. There’s something to that, I could make a case for that. Quick wit makes good soldiers, right?  _ The boy splashed his hands in the water and nodded at Catra curiously. Catra nodded back.

“Yup.” she said, “you little goofball.” He pointed at the toilet and made a dismissive gesture as he shook his head. She shook her head too, letting the smile on her face grow a little. The whole situation was too bizarre not to be funny. “Noooo. No playing in the toilet.”

“No,” he said back, nodding. 

“No,” she repeated, looking into his face intently, “you got it? ‘No’.”

“No!” the boy grinned, his messy hair whipping like a tornado as he shook his head.

“Hooray for you,” Catra rolled her eyes, “you figured it out. Next you’ll be helping Lord Hordak draw up battle tactics. Ooooooo.” She tamped down the flicker of fear that the idea of Hordak brought up in her. The boy had giggled at her, entertained by her sarcastic expressions. “Wow. You really are just a little kid, huh? What’s your name?”

“Hmmm?” The boy frowned. Catra pointed at herself.

“Name? As in…you! A name is what you call yourself. What other people call you. ‘Catra’ is my name.” She poked her finger at her chest a few times, “Ca-tra. You?” She pointed at him, watching him go cross-eyed looking at her finger. “Even you gotta have a name… Right? Ugu Buga? Cave Boy? Anything?”

“Um,” the boy, full of uncertainty, pointed at the sink again and nodded yes. 

“Oh for…nevermind, booger. We’ll find a name for you. You won’t be the first one to get a name after you joined the Horde.” She stood up, cracking her back. “Ugh. So achy.”

She flexed both arms, the boy made a little noise and picked up the hand-towel he’d dropped earlier. He wet it, wrung it out, and came over to the Catra, staring at her right forearm. “What?” He held up the towel, gesturing at her arm, he threw back his hood and let his hair tumble out to its long, smelly length.

His face grew sad. Then, to her surprise it grew contrite, he nodded at the marks on her arm and looked away in shame. Catra grimaced. 

“Kid,” she said, “I don’t need  _ you  _ taking care of  _ me _ . Understand?” She waved the towel away, making him look even sadder. “And school that face of yours. If you think big sad eyes are going to help you around here you couldn’t be more wrong. If you’re gonna bite someone,  _ never  _ apologize. Bite and kick and cling to life! Feelings won’t matter.” The boy looked between the cloth and her. 

“No?” He asked. She shook her head. He put the cloth on the sink, nodding sadly.

She herded him into the shower stall. Curiosity overcame him once more and he began crinkling the plastic curtain in his fingers with ooo’s of wonder. He apparently needed to touch _everything_ and squeaked his palms along the tiled walls. Catra’s ear twitched and she tried not to interrupt him, much as the display was keeping her from sleeping.

_ Just let him do his thing.  _ She told herself, tossing the wet hand-towel into the sink.  _ He’ll get bored in a minute and- _

“Ooooo,” the boy said, “nyuuh!” He stuck out his tongue at the warped reflection of his face in the dial handle. He reached out for it.

“Wait,” Catra said. He turned, a dark eyebrow arched at her, “not yet. First. Soap.” She held out the purple bottle of lavender soap and paused, realizing he might not understand. She pointed at him and pinched her nostrils shut. He blushed again, stomping one bare foot.

“No,” he mumbled in his own defense.

“Oh, ‘yes’,” she nodded, “you are, Stinky. But this?” She popped the cap and made a show of wafting the scent to her face. “This…smells like someone I hate, honestly. But! It still smells a lot better than you.” She put a dollop on her hand and held it out to him. He sniffed it curiously then sneezed, before leaning in to sniff more. He licked his lips and stuck his tongue out. Catra pulled her hand back.

“…no?” the boy asked. Catra shut her eyes and tried to breathe evenly as she felt her face turn hot.

“No,” she responded, “don’t eat soap, please.” She smoothed her hand across his crown, as she’d done earlier to soothe him, and he grinned at the feeling. Then he frowned and hummed at the sensation of the soap applied to his scalp.

“Yech,” he said, picking at it. Catra filled both her palms with soap and thoroughly globbed it all along his hair, taking whole handfuls of it to avoid yanking at any knots. By the end his dirty hair was plastered to his head, and hung down in sticky lengths. His nose twitched and he pulled some of it across his face to inhale the scent. Catra rubbed her hands clean on his tunic.

“Yuck, this stuff feels like mud,” she grumbled, “but I bet you’re used to rolling around in that. Now, how do we get this thing off…” she started fiddling with the bones holding his tunic shut. His hand shot down and smacked her wrist. “Yow! You greasy brat!” She stood up and glared at him. He held the bones tight, backing away with a look of betrayal. “I am  _ trying _ to help you. Seriously kid, you need to chill out, ASAP.” She stood aside and pointed out into the room. “Still think you don’t need me? Then go. Go be smelly and dirty. You know what happens then, kid? You get sick and the Horde gets rid of you. So, go. Go if that’s what you want!”

The boy didn’t go, mouth moving as he tried to sound out some of her words, eyes searching suspiciously as she shook her head.

“Lets… try something else,” she sighed, holding out the lavender soap bottle, “you like this?” She shook it. “Smells nice, right? How’d you like the whole thing?” The boy reached a hand out to take it and frowned when she pulled back. “Lesson One of the Fright Zone: you  _ never  _ get something for nothing. The tunic.” She gestured meaningfully at it. “You’ll get  _ new  _ clothes that don’t smell like death’s sweaty sock drawer.”

“Mmmmmm,” the boy hummed, sniffing at his hair. Finally he nodded, unclipping the bones. Catra turned her back and held a hand out behind her. 

“Just tell me when you…,” the boy walked around from behind her to hold the tunic out in both hands, “oh, hey… yeah, you don’t care at all, huh?” He was bare underneath and seemed utterly unashamed or conscious of that fact. Catra rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time but any sarcasm died away as she saw how thin he was. His tunic gave him a deceptive fullness.

His belly was small and the most meat he had on him was at his biceps and his calves. Something about the sight of it filled her with a deep sadness she didn’t know she was capable of. The Horde was frugal to a fault, always withholding even the most basic of essentials, but it never let children get this underweight. This complicated things. If he was malnourished, he was weak. Weakness would not help his case. She thought bitterly of the warrior. 

_ ‘Help him’. Huh? And what have you done for him, I wonder? Not many favors, it looks like. He’s so skinny, it’s crazy. _

She exchanged her soap for the tunic, holding it with the tips of her fingers, well away from her. She tossed it in the hamper for lack of another place to put it. She’d throw it away tomorrow. He didn’t need it anymore, and it would make him stand-out. That was dangerous.

“You can eat after you’re clean,” she said, miming putting food in her mouth, “ok?” The boy nodded without looking up, entranced by the smell of the soap and the noise it made when he drummed his fingers on it. Catra scoffed, but a little smile snuck up on her. He seemed completely mentally insulated from how bad he looked, smelled, and must’ve felt. There was something about that, the unconscious strength it must have taken, that made her want to laugh. Not at him, exactly, but for him. Maybe he had a chance, if he could survive wherever he came from, to make it here.

“Alright, now  _ march _ ,” she pointed into the shower and the boy stepped in, still fascinated by the soap. “Now…why don’t you show me if you can figure this out?” She indicated the dial-knob. The boy scratched his soaped up scalp and gave a little ‘ah-ha!’. He stepped forward and twisted the knob carefully. He backed away with a start when water rattled through the piping in the walls.

“There you go,” Catra said, “you got it.”  _ Yeah. He learns real quick. That’s definitely useful. _ The shower spat a mouthful of water out and then sprayed full with strength. Ice-cold water slammed down onto the child. He shrieked and Catra had to juke quickly to her left to block him from running.

“Dang it, Catra, you idiot!” She yelled at herself. “It’s fine! It’s fine! Hey!” She pulled the curtain between them to keep her fur dry. “Look, it’s just water! Just water. Here.” She fought to keep him in place and held out her right hand, palm up. “Brrr. Cold! I forgot how cold it is at first. It’ll warm up, but see? It’s just water, it won’t hurt you.”  _ One step forward. Two steps back.  _

The boy pressed himself to her. He lifted a shaky hand up and held it out like she did. He pulled it back with a little yip.

“It’s ok! It’s ok! Come on, you couldn’t stop punching me earlier, you're not scared of a little water, are you?” She craned her neck to observe his palm. She saw that the skin of his fingers and palm were tough and pale. He was a climber like she was. She felt him trying to take her hand and pulled back. 

“No,” he said sadly, nodding. He relaxed, his face becoming curious all over again and he actually smiled when the water finally warmed. He cocked his head as the spray snapped loudly against the linoleum, unwinding himself from the curtain to stand under the water.

“Oooh,” he murmured happily, standing on his tip-toes to get closer to the shower head, before opening his mouth up wide to catch another drink. “Mmmm!” Catra ruffled his hair, lathering the soap up into white suds. The boy breathed in wonder, rubbing at his scalp and making a noise at the tingling feeling it left behind. He turned to Catra and showed her his sudsy hands. She snorted.

“I know,” she said, “will the wonders never cease? Now.” She drew a big circle around him. “Do that  _ everywhere. _ ” She smiled as he squirted a handful of soap into his palm and slapped it against his chest. He looked up at her and she nodded. “Yup.”

He grinned scrubbing the white suds all around his shoulders. Catra closed the curtain and returned to the sink. Her ankle twinged and she picked up the cloth he prepared for her, using it to soothe her ankle.

“That’s the stuff,” she sighed, “so, kid, how bout that name. Any updates?” She heard water splash to the floor, like tiny cupped hands had filled up and dropped it. A happy giggle rose with the shower steam. He really had no idea the danger he was in. 

“I’d tell you not to mess around,” Catra said, “but you wouldn’t understand anyway. So whatever. I’m counting to four hundred and then I’m getting you out.” She leaned back, wincing at her injuries. “What a weird night. Is anyone even still up in Horde Square?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“One more,” the medic says, “woof, this is a big one. Ok, on three.” He grabbed the handles of one of the two stretchers they’d slipped under Octavia’s back.

“On three,” Scorpia said, managing Octavia’s feet without any help, “means 1-2-Go, right?”

“No,” said the medic, “1-2-3-Go.”

“It does not,” piped up one of the two medics on Octavia’s sides, “the Force Captain had it right. 1-2-Go. Right, Clay?” The medic on the other side shrugged.

“Honestly, I thought we were doing 3-2-1.”

“No, Clay, that’d be a countdown not-”

“One,” interrupted the head medic, “Two, Three!” the Horde medics and Scorpia lifted the huge lady off the ground, grunting and complaining as they crab-walked towards a skiff with a red cross spray-painted on the metal wind-sail. “Grox has another Force Captain coming his way. Give him a heads-up.”

“Anything I can do?” Scorpia asked. The head medic’s cloth mask crinkled with a smile. He slapped her armored shoulder once.

“Done a great deal, already, Cap,” he said, “it's our battle now. Can we give you a lift back to your quarters?”

“Nah,” Scorpia yawned, stretching her pincers, “you all get underway. You got wounded.” She flushed at the open admiration on the faces before her. “C’mon. It’s not a big deal. Anybody would-”

“Quite a few folks did not,” a warbling basso said. Admiral Leech approached, flanked by Horde Marines. “A credit to the badge, Force Captain Scorpia. Doctor, you heard her.”

“Sir,” the medics saluted, “Force Captain. You ever need a favor. Just ask.”

“Well,” Scorpia said, remembering the thin little boy, “maybe I’ve got one already. But it can wait til tomorrow. Thanks!” The skiff engines glowed and whined, setting the vehicle forward at a steady pace. “You good, Admiral? Anything I can do to help you?”

“Hmm,” Leech frowned, “I wonder if there’s anything I can help  _ you  _ with.” Scorpia gave him an awkward smile and rubbed the back of her head. She shrugged. “Oh, now, Force Captain Scorpia, please. I’ve heard that Shadow Weaver hasn’t given you a detachment yet. You’re still…working with Force Captain Catra?” Scorpia tried not to show her nerves. She had very strict orders regarding her ‘work’ with Catra. ‘Tell no-one’ being the first and most important of them.

“Catra’s on her way to the top,” Scorpia said, sounding less convincing than she wanted to, “I’m glad to tag along and give her a pincer…whenever I can!”

“But is that all?” Admiral Leech asked. “Surely, there must be more to it than that! Commander Serket’s daughter? Playing second fiddle to someone so…” the man trailed off politely.

“Ambitious,” Scorpia offered, becoming a tad defensive, “and dedicated to the Horde’s mission!” The marine on Leech’s right coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘sure’. “I know what I want, Admiral, and I’m happy where I am.”

“If you ever change your mind,” Admiral Leech said, “I’d be happy to find a spot for you on a ship.”

“I  _ do  _ love boats,” Scorpia said, glancing away and imagining herself with a big, feathered hat and crew of swashbuckling cutthroats. Rescuing fair beauties (and of course everyone else! Beauty standards were made-up, after all!) from sea-monsters. Oddly enough, a lot of those fictional damsels were magicats. “Uh…but no. Catra needs me right now, Admiral.”

“Very well,” the old man bowed, “I know when to retreat. And I am far too old a lamprey for this time of morning. Be well, Force Captain. The Horde prevails.”

“The Horde prevails,” Scorpia beamed, saluting. The last of his marines left with him and Scorpia found herself largely alone in Horde Square. “And now…I guess I just go back to my room. Sleep. Wake up. Alone. Oh, jeez, Scorpia! You just had an amazing, heart-stopping, hair-raising adventure and you’re getting the Scaries all of the sudden.”

Something in Leech’s comments had filled her head with the images of long years without advancing. Of always chasing after Catra and never telling her how she was starting to feel for the fiery young woman. Or, worse, never figuring out exactly  _ how  _ she was starting to feel for the fiery young woman.

“Saving you from the big guy, helping you fight that shadow,” she sighed, making her way towards the east gate, “it was… kinda… the best night of my life! I felt so alive, so useful! I felt so happy when that little light went on in your eyes, and you realized you were safe. When you looked at me, and I could see how relieved you were. You looked so thankful I was there! I felt… well, I didn’t feel like…”

_ A disappointment.  _ She thought to herself, shivering and glancing up at the sky, terrified she’d see the pair of red-eyes had returned.  _ Aw, what did it even know about me? I know who I am. I know what I want. Just like Catra! I just…don’t know how to quite say it out loud yet! Or in my head! _

__ __ “Oh, man,” she said, “I wish I had something to get my mind off this stuff. Anything. It could fall right out the sky-”

There was a metal bending noise from overhead and a sad, scared mrowl. A small, green cub with butterscotch stripes did not fall out of the sky. More ‘fell off a one-story roof and smacked her on the head’.

“Wha?!” Scorpia grappled the strange creature in her claws, holding it to her chest and blinking into a pair of startled amber eyes. The cub chuffed and sniffed her face. “Oh. Oh!” Horde Square rang with a single, joyful gasp.

“A kitty!”

* * *

_ Ok,  _ Catra thought,  _ so if Lord Hordak says ‘he’s too dangerous’ I’ll say ‘I already have him obeying my orders’. That's technically correct. If he says ‘he needs to answer for what happened in Horde Square’ I’ll say ‘it was the big guy, not the kid.’ That's a start, at least. And if...if he decides none of that matters and the kid’s going to Beast Island because that’s just how it is… I’ll… ugh! Not now. Take a break.  _

“Ok, kid,” Catra said, flexing her foot, smiling at how much better it felt, “time’s up.” She stepped toward the shower stall and reached in blindly. She grumbled at the way the warm water soaked her fur from hand to elbow but quested until she found the dial-knob.

“Eh!” The boy said as the water shut off.

“Yeah-yeah, I’m a monster,” Catra snatched a body-towel off the rack and dropped it over the boy’s head, “dry off. Come on out when you’re not soaking.” Catra walked into her room and groaned miserably at the mess everywhere. She righted the boy’s cot, tossed the blanket back onto it, replaced her dresser drawers, and stowed her clothing inside them.

She realized that she should change into her sleep-wear while the boy was occupied. It made her frown to imagine how much her basic routine would change as a result of this. She felt a little twinge of frustration as she imagined this same scenario playing out tomorrow, perhaps again and again for who-know-how-long. 

“I can do this,” she said, “I  **have** to do this. If I want a pet She-Ra I can sick on Adora, then I gotta tough it out.” She sighed. “But first I gotta just find an angle to keep this kid  _ alive _ .” She put on her single pair of tank-top and shorts, a fresh wave of sleep pulling her towards her bed. “Nooooo. Not yet.” The boy stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Catra cupped her face in her hands when she saw him. “Not like that…”

He’d not dried himself, he’d simply wound the towel around his body like his tunic. He’d even made a little hood to keep his hair hidden. She knelt in front of him and took the sides of his head in either hand, rubbing firmly to dry the waves of hair under it.

“Nn!” The boy complained. She slowed down and used a gentler hand, muttering bitterly. Satisfied that his head wouldn’t be soaked, she pushed the hood back to show him how he could dry the rest of himself. His hair tumbled free and Catra’s mouth dropped open.

“What…in the world…”she said. The soap had done its job and then some. A complete transformation had come over the child’s hair. She’d thought it was black or dark brown, but the sheer filth of it stood out now in contrast to the boy’s true color. Hanging like the hood and mantle of cloak were long damp tresses of honey-blonde hair, shining gold in the doorway of the light behind him. “Take a few steps back.”

The boy stood in the light and Catra finally looked him over clean and well lit. An uncanny feeling tickled the back of her head. His eyebrows were just a touch darker than his hair, closer to a rich, deep brown. His skin was tanned at the arms and legs. His chest and belly were a little paler. She cocked her head at him, reaching out to touch a little razor-thin line of a tiny scar on his right shoulder with her finger.

“What’s your story, kid?” She asked, almost unconsciously. “Where’d you come from? Why do you look... so much like her?”

A hand reached out and touched her opposite bicep, fingers tracing the tabby-stripes on her arm. She pulled away as she realized how odd she was being. She gestured at him, showing him how he should dry himself and arranged Adora’s clothes out on the bed. She tossed him the under-shorts first.

“If you try wearing those like a hat or something,” she said, “I swear, I’m done.” The boy understood enough, it seemed, and donned them correctly. “Good. This next.” She handed over Adora’s specially designed shirt, with the Horde Symbol sewn onto the back. Another gift to her from Shadow Weaver, like the lavender soap had been. Catra seethed and thought about her boss with a little shiver.

_ If she isn’t dead, which I’m sure she’s not knowing my luck, then I’ll probably have to spend all day talking to her tomorrow. Maybe she’ll know what that shadow thing was. That thing’s the key, it was way bigger a threat than meathead was, but he offed it with barely any help. If he’s on our side, then whoever sent that thing after us is toast. She’ll know what it was, it looked a lot like her-  _

Something dark occurred to her then and there.  _ A lot like her magic... _

She shook her head.  _ No. It attacked  _ **_all of us,_ ** _ not just me _ **_._ ** _ Shadow Weaver wouldn’t attack her own side… Well, not without a reason. She hates me, but not  _ **_that_ ** _ much. Right? Besides, that thing was after the kid. Could she already know about him? _

She froze, eyes narrowing towards the room’s darkest corner, waiting for red eyes to emerge.  _ Get a hold of yourself. It’s gone. But if that big guy had just killed it like I said… _

“I hope you're seeing all this,” she grumbled to the absent warrior, “I hope you're happy with the job I’m doing. Cuz this is all going on your tab, meathead.” The boy made an inquisitive noise, head popping through the neckhole of the shirt. Catra reached over and twisted the shirt around so he wasn’t wearing it backwards. His arms bulged like snakes under it, struggling to find the sleeves before both shot free. He looked himself over and hummed indignantly. His hands were lost in the sleeves like a straight jacket and the hem hung down to his knees. It looked ludicrous on his tiny frame.

Catra barked a laugh. He glared at her and tried to squirm out of the shirt. She reached out and stopped him, folding the sleeves up all the way to his shoulders. She took a claw to the hem of his shirt, slicing off the excess athletic fabric until it was closer to his waist. The boy tucked both hands under his long hair and fished it out of his collar. Catra grinned and poked him in the belly-button while he was distracted.

“You baby,” she snickered as he waved a hand at her, “if I looked that silly, you’d laugh too.” She handed him the gray pants next, he crossed his arms and shook his head. “Oh, no? Tough. These are called pants and they are  _ non-negotiable.  _ I’ll fix them for you…I’ve been doing  _ everything  _ for you tonight already.” The boy frowned, accepted the clothing and tried to put them on, letting them drop when it was clear they wouldn’t fit.

He tried stepping out of them and Catra braced a hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm look.

“No?” The boy grumped.

“No,” Catra shook her head, “you have to wear pants. Put ‘em on.” He allowed her to hike them up to his middle and yipped in surprise when she tightened the inner elastic belt so they were snug. They still sagged and she repurposed the excess cloth to make a little white sash that she knotted on his left hip as a belt. “And there we go. You’re…mostly normal looking.” She rolled the pant legs up until they sat around his ankles as fat tubes of gray canvas. “Bright side? I don’t wear shoes so you don’t have to either.”

“Hmmm,” the boy looked himself over, “blech!” He didn’t like it.

“My heart is breaking for you,” Catra groused, “was that really the worst thing ever? Food time.” She mimed eating again and the boy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, of course you get that one right away.” She handed him the brown ration bar and he frowned at it, rubbing his thumb on the plastic wrapper. Catra gave him a mean stink-eye. “You better not complain, cause that’s all there is.”

The boy licked the plastic wrap and made a face of pure suffering. Catra snatched it from him, locking eyes with him, and ripped the plastic open.

“ _ How _ are you alive, kid?” she asked flatly, “There, eat.” She shoved the brown bar at his face and watched him sniff it curiously. “Just eat…it...” She trailed in horror as the boy quite happily massacred the thing. His huge grin gnashing tiny bits that he gulped down greedily. She had a sudden bolt of caution.

He was underfed. His belly was small. A new mountain of challenges rose before her and she tried not growl in frustration. She had to work at this or it wouldn’t even matter. 

“Wait,” she reached out, “hang on, don’t eat so fast you can’t-wait!” The kid hissed and threw himself back. The clothes, the clean hair, and the fresh scent could do nothing to change the look of animal desperation in his eyes. He huddled into a ball, scarfing the rest of his meal rapidly. Catra reached her absolute limit. This  _ wasn’t  _ working.

“Fine!” she roared, making the child shrivel further into himself. “Stuff your face! Eat it til you barf! Maybe you’ll learn then. Maybe that’ll finally teach you how good you have it. Cuz you know what, kid? Not everybody gets it as good as you do!” She leapt forward, landing on all fours and growling. “Most kids here don’t get their own babysitter! They don’t get all the time in the world to clean up, or eat! And most of all, we don’t get someone who’s constantly watching our backs! You do! You! The person who nearly _ killed me  _ a couple times today, and I’m sick of it! What was I thinking? Why did I even bother with you?!

The boy pressed his back to the wall.

“I’m done,” Catra growled, “I’m done helping you! You better get it on your own because as far as I’m concerned I’ve done my part! And whatever happens to you after this? It  _ wasn’t my fault _ , cuz I  **tried!** ” She turned, tossed herself onto her bed and ranted at a muffle into her mattress. “So if that big guy still even wants my help, he better knock down, like, a whole kingdom for me! I’ve earned more than that already! Honestly, two kingdoms!” She felt a weight crawl onto the bed. “No. There’s no more. Go away!”

Before she could react, a tiny body snuggled against her side. A head of blonde, lavender scented hair wiggled under her arm. The boy pressed his face against the side of hers, almost like a kitten, resting his head on the mattress to sleep.

Catra scurried away into the corner like she’d been scalded. The boy flinched, realization dawning sadly in his cornflower-blue eyes.

“No?” He asked in a tiny voice. Catra bared her teeth and shook her head.

“No.”

He glanced at the cot and then at her, glum and disconsolate, and nodded once. She nodded back and he looked ready to cry.

“Don’t give me that,” Catra huffed, “I’ve done enough for you, kid. Don’t ask for more. It’s greedy. Better you be disappointed now. You’ll get over it.” The kid slid off the bed and padded silently to his bed. Catra collapsed into her mattress and nearly roared when she heard a little noise next to her. “This better be good.” 

He was holding her mask out to her silently, not looking at her. She took it back and shooed him away.

“Go to bed,” she said, “I’m done.” She was asleep before she heard him make it back into his cot. 

* * *

  
  
  


It was some time later that the boy’s stomach began screaming at him, like a balloon was threatening to pop behind his navel. He rubbed at his stomach through the odd new clothing he was wearing. Sweat was making his hair stick to his forehead, swaddling him in the strange, wonderful smell that the cat-eared lady had given him in exchange for his tunic.

The cat-eared lady. She was  _ so  _ nice. Even if she could be scary when she yelled. The boy growled at himself. He was so stupid and greedy. He ate all her food! After she shared her water with him and gave him a place to sleep. After she talked to him, even if he couldn’t understand her.

The sword was gone. His cub was gone. The Other One hadn’t spoken in hours. And he’d gone and been so awful to the one person trying to help him. He couldn’t help it! He’d been so so hungry. A strange part of his brain had told him if he didn’t eat everything he might not eat again until who-knew-when.

But  _ that  _ was no excuse! Even in the worst of times, he’d never stolen food from his cub. He’d never kept all the water for himself. He knew better. He moaned and hugged his tummy. He knew he deserved to feel awful.

“Kid..” the cat-eared lady’s raspy voice growled, “I... warned you. And you  **didn’t** listen. This is what I was trying to warn you about.” Her snarl rippled through the dark room. The boy couldn’t stop a moan from slipping out. “I know!” She roared. Then, softer, more tired than angry, she went on. “I know. I know your tummy hurts. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that…nothing… Ugh, what did I get myself into?” 

Great. She sounded awful and it was his fault. The first real person who ever… _ ever _ did anything for him. Or talked to him. Or tried to understand him. He would’ve cried if he had the energy.

“No,” he called out sadly as he heard a door open. The cat-eared lady had left. Of course she did. He was too greedy, too noisy, and too wrong. Of course she left. What could he do for her?

“Roll over,” her raspy voice whispered by his ear. He gasped. She was sneaky. Sneakier than even  _ he  _ was and he was the sneakiest thing he knew! He looked at her. “C’mon, uncurl. On your back.” She put her hands on him and adjusted him, he groaned, resisting the urge to push her away and curl up. She smoothed his shirt up over his stomach.

A warm, wet cloth spread over his stomach and made him wince. Another towel. Fingers, ones that had claws that could shred the Other One’s hard skin, pressed firmly into his belly, massaging. He moaned at first and then felt the pressure easing inside. It was like magic. The pain was pushed around at first and then slowly soothed away.

Mis-matched eyes glowed in the dark, watching his face carefully. They were like stars. Blue and gold and the only thing in the universe that he didn’t have to fear. Stars looking at him and nothing else. He winced at a press, the lady adjusted the pressure and held up one hand, forefinger and thumb close together.

“Look, your belly is only this big,” her voice was rough like sandstones but so quiet that it soothed his ears, even as he didn’t understand the words, “you ate too much, too quick.” She made her hand into a fist, then made an expanding motion. “But it’ll grow in a few weeks, and then you can eat all you want… or... as much as I can find for you. Look, kid, you gotta listen to me, I’m trying to help you. I’m  _ trying. _ ” The boy made the same expanding motion. “So, for now, just  _ try  _ to understand me back. Please? You can’t even understand what I’m saying right now, but, I want you to survive here, I made a deal with that big guy to look after you. And I don’t go back on my promises.” She soothed him and looked closely at him. “We’re gonna need each other the next few days. I… I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I’ll try, and you’ll try. Okay? Cuz that’s… that’s the best plan I’ve got right now. We’ll go from there. Do you understand that?”

The boy nodded.

“Sure,” her celestial eyes closed as she hung her head, “yea, I’m  _ so sure _ you got all that.” She kept massaging his belly, gently. In his head the words stirred something in a soft twinkle of golden light. The eyes looking down on him changed. Topaz with tiny black pupils and a warm light that was so full of kindness the boy couldn’t believe it. They twinkled at him from beneath the wide brim of a pointed, candy-apple red, hat. 

_ Go to sleep, little prince, _ a voice whispered. It wasn’t the Other One. Or the Dark Dream. Or the cat-eared lady. It was someone familiar…he’d heard it before…he must have. The voice was high and thin. And patient.

_ Go to sleep, now. Didn’t mean to wake you.  _ The voice sung the words in a cutesy tone as blue hands, each with three long fingers, danced and made shapes before his eyes.  _ This is just a teeny weeny little test! An activation phrase, y’see, for a little test. Just in case of... emergencies. Now…ahem…I want you to remember your name. _

__ __ “You’re lucky I know this stuff,” the cat-eared lady started saying, the boy was in stunned silence, barely aware, “I had a…there was a person who I knew. She was skipping dinner as part of some stupid Future Force Captains assignment, we were like twelve-years-old or something. When she finally passed she chowed down so hard she was crumpled up for two days straight with stomach pains. Stupid. They even warned her not to overeat! But nooo. She knew better.”

_ Now lets try the activation phrase. When you hear the words…oh, no, no no! Shh-shh! Go to sleep…! Ahem…when you hear the words ‘what is your name’...you will remember... _

__ __ The boy gasped. The golden memory was fading away from him, his fingers twitched to grab it.

“What? Too rough?” the cat-eared lady asked, “Look, I’ll be careful. But this’ll only help a little, you’re gonna be cramped up all night, probably. So…where was I? Right. So she’s doubled over and I’m just trying to figure out what to do with her. Had to sneak into an infirmary and swipe some medical pamphlets. But that’s where I learned about this,” she rubbed the towel, “cold and hot compresses. I did this for her and she could finally go to sleep.”

_ You will remember, my prince…. _

“You’re like her,” the lady snickered, “blonde, clueless, and you eat too fast. Pfft. Just like Adora, alright.”

_ Find her!  _ The falcon flashed in his mind on a wave of golden light.  _ Find… _

__ __ “Adooora?” the boy asked. What a strange word. He whined as the lady stopped pressing on his belly, she grabbed his shoulders and sat him up.

“Ca-tra Caaaaa-t-rrrrrr-aaaa.” She pointed at herself, “my name is Catra. Name. That word again! Like the memory had mentioned, but it was so distant. So hard to recall. What did it mean?

“Ad…Adoora?” Was that what ‘name’ meant. Apparently not, the cat-eared lady sighed.

“No, I’m not Adora,” she said, “I’m Catra. Jeez. Of course you learn her name before mine. Never-mind kid. Go to sleep.”

_ Go to sleep, Prince… _ the boy jolted up. It was like a sunrise in his head, bobbing up and down on the horizon of a long, lonely midnight. If he could just get closer. If he could just remember!  _ You will remember…. that your name is Adam. _

“A-Ad!” he pointed at himself. The lady’s eyes closed and she huffed.

“No.  _ Your  _ name isn’t Adora either. Forget it. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Shhh!”

“Uh, excuse me? No! You don’t get to shush me!”

“Shhhhhh!”

“F-fine!” the lady pouted.

“Ad..Ada….uhhmmmm,” almost there. If he could just say it. The lady’s hand cupped his face, her thumbs running over his cheeks soothingly. Her eyes were a few inches from his, tired and empty, he could do this for her. To thank her. It’d be a start. ‘Name’. ‘Name’!

“Don’t get so excited,” she said, “you’re gonna pop something, jeez. Just…go to sleep, please?”  _ Your name is… _

__ __ He froze, the syllables falling into place as a tear raced down his cheek. A name. Of course he had a name. How could he have forgotten? Everyone had a name. He looked into her eyes.

“Ca-tra,” he said. Her eyes widened. A little smile touched her voice as she spoke.

“Yeah…yeah you got it. I’m Catra.” The boy pointed at him himself, grasping at his name and trying to make it leave his mouth. He fought against the fog in his head. It was his name. He had a name!

“Hey,” Catra cautioned, “easy kid…go to sleep, ok? We’ll get you a name in the morning.”  …remember,  _ your name is… _

__ __ “ADAM!”

“Ah!” The lady’s eyes went huge and fell backwards in surprise, falling like beautiful comets to the ground. “Ow!”

_When you hear it…you’ll remember that your name is Adam._

__ __ “Adam,” Adam whispered to himself, “Ca-tra!” He crawled off the strange bed and felt through the dark until his hand found a fur-covered arm. He squeezed it tight, feeling the other person near him in the dark. So warm and alive. And her name was Catra. He pressed his teary face into her bicep.

And  _ he  _ had a name too. Adam. She had given him his name back.

“Hey-hey, easy, booger. Watch the arms. Those are my moneymakers...Wait, what did you say?”

“Adam!” He squeaked, she slipped herself free of him and stood, looking down with her eyes like stars. “Adam!” He saw a grin glinting at him in the dark.

“Adam,” she repeated, “huh, alright. We’re making progress again. That’s a good sign, I guess. Now…go to sleep,  _ Adam _ .” She pointed at the cot. “Adam. Weird name...”

“Catra!” He exclaimed, a finger pointed at her. Catra snickered, tail flicking as she went back to her big bed. 

“Ok,” she said, ‘that’s enough for now. Sleep. Sleeeeeeep. For like a year. You be quiet. Shhh.”

“Shhh,” Adam said, nodding. He tiptoed to his cot, curling into his blanket, kicking away the wet towel he had on his belly. The pain was a distant memory now… he had a name! 

“Okay, goodnight, Adam,” Catra mumbled, “you get one free wake-up. If you do it again I’ll flip that cot over while you’re in it.” She laughed around a yawn.

“Ca-tra,” Adam whispered, watching her from across the room. He saw a blue eye crack open and wink at him.

“A-dam,” she said, “shhhh. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, kid. Go to sleep.” 

_ “Sleep, little prince…” _ the memory echoed as it drifted away. 

“Shhh,” Adam replied, snuggling into the blanket. Sleep found him still whispering his name and Catra’s, together.


	9. Safety Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver finally awakens after the events of the Alignment, finding her plans to retrieve Adora have backfired severely. In need of closure, she seeks out Adam.

The moment she awoke on the floor of the Black Garnet Chamber, Shadow Weaver knew something had gone very wrong. Her brain throbbed and contracted in with each iota of sensory input. One minute feeling too large for her skull, the next feeling far too small. The horrible  _ absence  _ of power was every kind of withdrawal perfected to a single, agonizing apotheosis.

“You fool,” she hissed to herself. Her voice grated her throat and scoured her ear-drums, “you power-drunk  _ fool.  _ What have you done to yourself?”

The pain was exquisite. Her scars pulsed like they’d become fresh wounds again and the silky touch of her robes was like sandpaper on her skin. She ripped her mask off, gasping for air that burned her throat.

“Power,” she groaned, rising like a revenant corpse to her elbows and clawing at the smooth surface of the Black Garnet. “Give me power.” She found the thread of magic, coal-black and traced with red lightning, which bound her to the runestone. Her mind tugged hard at the magic within it. “Now…now!”

A small jolt, barely equal a drop of water or a crumb of food, snaked into her and she absorbed it greedily. Hunger, thirst, and aching pain vanished. The absence still crawled up the insides of her skin, but the small relief satisfied her. Shadow Weaver’s pounding head cleared in time to hear rapid knocks on her door.

“Ma’am?” A woman’s voice called, curving backwards with fear. “Shadow Weaver, are you in there?”

“Begone, you miserable little insect,” she muttered to herself, “do not make me squash you.”

“Ma’am…ma’am if you’re in there you’re needed in Lord Hordak’s throne room right away,” they hadn’t heard her.

“Who is speaking?” she asked, wincing as the echo of her own voice galloped around inside her skull.

“Sgt. Kaiba of Regiment-”

“If you wish to remain a sergeant, my dear,” Shadow Weaver said, “you will get away from my door this second. I will attend in my own time.”

“It’s…it’s an emergency ma’am,” the sergeant’s voice trembled, “please be understanding. Lord Hordak has…requested your presence.” Shadow Weaver groped for her mask, she couldn’t be seen without it, not by anyone. She placed it on her face and dragged herself up by the stone basin of her scrying bowl. She glanced at the comm-screen on the far wall. Destroyed, along with every other piece of equipment in the room, from the power surge of the Alignment.  _ What a bother. I’ll have to relinquish this place to some empty-headed technician. Wretched technology. Waste of time. _

“Ma’am?” The sergeant asked, voice quavering a little.

“Sergeant, I am now ordering you to leave,” Shadow Weaver said, “And I cannot stress enough how important this order is to you. You do not realize how much depends on it.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but protocol, when the Horde experiences an emergency like we had last night…please be understanding.”

“Emergency?” Shadow Weaver repeated, quietly to herself, she turned her face to the door, “You dare lecture me on protocols?” She’d been asleep for nearly half a day.

“No, ma’am! We’ve been keeping guard while…while people searched for you. We were beginning to think you weren’t in your chambers.” Shadow Weaver’s response died on her lips as she caught sight of movement in the dark corners of her chamber. Red eyes, with thin black pupils gazed morosely at her. Dark Dream emerged in a small, bat-sized scrap of its body. It looked ragged and radiated defeat.

“Sergeant, you will fetch your superior and return immediately,” she kept her voice level even as the rage inside her burned molten hot. 

“Yes, ma’am!” The sergeant’s footsteps stumbled as she raced away.

“What has happened,” she asked, her voice a rasp. She rubbed her thumb over the jewel in her mask, “tell me, child…how have you failed me?” Dark Dream floated closer, then became a trail of dark smoke that slithered into the jewel of her mask, until all of the Dark Dream was hidden within. It touched her mind with its essence and filled her with visions of the night before. Images flashed across her brain of a journey through the night, a golden thread of power, and a sudden dive towards Horde Square.

“No. No, no no no! What have you _done_ , you _stupid thing_!” she said, voice dead with disbelief, “What is this?!” A figure, a small figure, wrapped in purple cloaks, with a mind like an animal’s wriggled below her. A bolt of red movement, a flash of blue steel, a pair of familiar eyes, one gold and the other blue, glaring triumphantly up at her. 

Sergeant Kaiba and her Lieutenant both froze as they entered the corridor and heard what, to their ears, could have been nothing else but the shriek of a furious, vengeful banshee.

“You couldn’t find me,” the Lieutenant whispered suddenly, grasping Kaiba's arm and spinning them around to march away, “I was catching a nap. I had my radio turned off. I was in the bathroom with nightmarish bowel troubles. I don’t care, say whatever you want. But you  _ couldn’t find me  _ and that’s why you never came back here.” 

Kaiba nodded, reminding herself that hugging her superior officer and sobbing in relief was not what a ten-year veteran soldier did. 

* * *

On Scorpion Hill, in the South Western Wing of the Fright Zone, loomed an obsidian pyramid emblazoned with the scarlet mark of the Black Garnet. The gatehouse fortress was the last stronghold of the Scorpioni. It rose like a black stinger, predating all of the high-steel walls and concrete foundations around it. The soldiers who patrolled it were no mere Horde Troopers. They were tall, muscular Scorpioni still bearing the red-plate armor that once marked the personal guard of the royal family. Gone were those days.

Once, portraits had lined these halls and glowered down on all who passed through to the heart of the once-sovereign kingdom that lived a hard, honest life before the arrival of Hordak. Now there was no place for that history, it was the dead past and must not distract for the bright future.

Here, at their ruined kingdom’s doorstep, two scions of the lost line met in the Commander’s Office to determine the fate of an innocent life.

Serket, by all old rights Queen of this land, shook her head, the straight, shoulder-length hair waving gently with the movement. She looked up into her little girl’s eyes, a difference of almost two feet between them. Scorpia’s smile thinned to become a tad more desperate.

“Scorpia, I don’t know,” her mother said, “is it really your pet if I have to take care of it?” The retired Commander looked over the new arrival to her home. The cub was clearly no housecat, the tiger-stripes alone gave that away, but he seemed a perfectly docile little creature. Purring and lapping at a saucer of milk like it was everything he’d ever wanted in life.

“Ma, please?” Scorpia said, “I would if I could, but I can’t keep him in my room. He’s such a big kitty! He needs room to lounge and things to test his claws on.” She glanced at few claw marks on her pincers. “Other than, y’know, me.” Serket frowned.

“Maurice,” she called to a large, red-armored scorpion-man guarding the doorway, “please go get my buffing kit.” Scorpia’s face pinkened as he bowed and marched out. It didn’t help that her mother’s private office was covered wall-to-wall in baby photos.

“Do we really have to do this together, Ma? I have one of my own!” Serket, as if half listening, used a pincer to brush a few stray green stands of fur off her daughter’s uniform.

“I know that, I’m just trying to be helpful, little venom,” she said, smiling with pride.

“Oh, ma,” Scorpia said, giving her a look, “we made an agreement about ‘little venom’.” The older woman sighed.

“Force Captain Little Venom,” Serket corrected herself.

“Yes, thank you!” Scorpia sniffed proudly, “Now please, just let the kitty stay here? Pets weren’t covered in Force Captain Orientation, but I’m fairly certain we’re not allowed to have them.”

“No,” Serket said, “you’re not. And I don’t know how to take your whole ‘strong, independent soldier’ trend seriously if you’re going to rely on your mother to look after your…adorable, fuzzy-wuzzy-oh, his little face is so precious!” Serket covered her mouth with one pincer as she watched the cub yawn, revealing endearingly dangerous fangs, and curled up into a comfortable ball to sleep.

Mother and daughter sighed, equally smitten. They were content to watch the cub until Maurice reentered with a small makeup box and the sort of heavy-duty polisher often found in a mechanic’s garage.

Ex-Horde Commander Serket, the Bane of King Micah, took the buffing equipment from her bodyguard and laid it on her desk. She donned a welder’s mask that, with glitter glue, emphatically declared the wearer as the ‘World’s Best Mom’.

“Very well,” Serket sighed, “I suppose Kitty can stay for now. I have that hideous dresser I can’t get rid. He can play with that. There’s some pillows and...” She shot her daughter a sad little pout. “...and a big, empty bedroom that no-one uses anymore.”

"How would it look if a Force Captain lived with her mother?”

“It would look wonderful to me,” Serket grumped, “I see so little of you anymore. Bring that friend of yours by sometime. Catla?”

“Catra, ma, I must’ve mentioned her a dozen times!” She frowned as Serket approached her with the polisher. 

“Oh, please,” Serket asked, “for me? I never get to help anyone buff anymore. It’s so relaxing.” Scorpia frowned and looked around as if Catra might walk in any second to see her.

“Only,” Scorpia said, very seriously, “because I have spent all night fighting for the Horde. I think I've earned a warrior’s right to be pampered.”

“My brave little Ve… ‘Force Captain’ Little Venom,” Serket beamed, the polisher’s whirring was so loud she had to shout, “you let me know if I’m using too much pressure, ok?” Scorpia grumbled at the indignity but nodded all the same.

“And you know,” Serket shouted, “as long as you’re going to get all nice and evened out, I know this gunnery sergeant down on the West Side battery who I think you would just love to meet!” Scorpia groaned, raising her own voice to be heard and ducking slightly away from the flash of sparks.

“Ma! I told you! I don’t want to date any of your spinster friends!” 

“Spinsters! Really, Scorpia, she’s only thirty-three. Goodness knows what that makes me in your book.”

“Can we talk about something else,” Scorpia groaned, “like, y'know, how I was fighting for my life twelve hours ago?”Scorpia related the desperate fight with the warrior before her mother could answer.

“Potent as nitroglycerin,” Serket said as she put away the polisher and flipped up her mask, eyes twinkling with pride, “you get that strong venom from my great-aunt, you know.”

“Yeah,” Scorpia said, “but…but…that other thing. The shadow.” Scorpia gulped and glanced around. “Nobody could hurt it except…the big guy.”

“The boy?” Serket asked.

“No... well, yes? It’s complicated,” Scorpia chewed her lip and gave voice to a question that had been bugging her since the shadow had wormed its way into her mind. “Would mom be proud of me?” Serket answered without hesitation, proudly and bittersweet, not even looking up from putting her buffing gear away.

“Sadrafa never doubted you’d turn out to be the young woman you are today. Brave, patient, thoughtful, and so full of love. Yes, she would be very proud of you,” she turned, “what makes you wonder that?” A whispery, haunting voice crawled out of Scorpia’s memories to hiss at her.

_ Disappointment. Useless. Unloved. Unlovable. What good is a Princess who has no power? What good is a Force Captain with no soldiers? Muscle without ambition? Wasted potential. Why bother, Scorpia the Last? Scorpia the LEAST. You should hope Catra never realizes how useless you are to her. You are just one of a million desert stones, buried and exhumed at the mercy of the high winds, never budging an inch. Forever unneeded. Unseen. Unloved. _

__ __ A fuzzy shape shoved against her shin and she smiled down at the tiger cub.

__ __ “N-no reason,” she said. She glanced at a picture of her late mother. Her size and strength, her red chitin, and the smile. “I guess, I just wonder… Is it… normal to miss someone more as time goes by, ma?” Slim, ballerina-pink pincers slid around her, squeezing her tight in a hug.

“Always, Scorpia,” her mother said, “always.” She tried a smile. “But she’d be proud of you for certain. You’re exactly what the Horde needs right now. Someone young and strong. Not weighed down by…unimportant things. By the past.” There was a flicker of sadness in the Commander’s eyes that Scorpia almost missed. “It’s good that you have your own room and your own life. Perhaps I’m too concerned with tradition. But you won’t have that problem! Of course the kitty can stay here, that way you won’t be distracted from your career.” Serket’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

_ Scorpia the Last,  _ Scorpia thought,  _ the Least.  _ Her thoughts were spiraling into a whirlpool of anxiety and uncertainty. The future towering overhead, dark and forbidding as the shadow monster from the night before. Scorpia did what she knew best.

“I love you, mom,” Scorpia said, hugging her mother tight. The embrace when it was returned chased away the darkness as quickly and powerfully as any warrior imbued with magic.

“And I love you, Force Captain Scorpi-ah!” She smiled painfully, sweating as the green tiger cub scaled her leg. “What a sweet, sharp-clawed little baby. No-no! It’s alright, Maurice, he’s mostly just getting the chitin right now!”

“Kitty!” Scorpia plucked him off her mother. “Careful, thats my mom you’re trying to…oh!” Scorpia cooed when the cub pressed his flat, wet nose against her forehead. “You are just too cute! I promise I’ll come see you every day! Yes I will!” Maybe, she thought, the future wasn’t quite so bleak.

* * *

Hordak adjusted how he sat in his throne, feeling particular agony in his lower back from laying sprawled out on the floor of his lab. The little spy landed next to him, glaring suspiciously at the sword resting against the throne's side, pommel clasped tightly in Hordak’s right hand.

A necessary tool, to help him move from the lab to his throne room, he had to present himself to Shadow Weaver in person. He could not stomach showing any kind of weakness and the sword was far less obvious than a crutch, even if its weight and shape hindered his movements at times. The doors to the throne room whined open as two Horde marines winched them manually from the outside.

Shadow Weaver stepped inside the chamber. The doors whined shut and both figures weighed each other across the dark space. Red eyes and white eyes met, wondering at the potential outcomes of this moment.

“You,” Hordak said, “were not here to confront the intruder.” Shadow Weaver’s eyes dipped down to the sword at his side, widening a fraction in curiosity. “You were not here to take charge when the lesser officers congregated outside with no clear hierarchy.” He bared his teeth. “And you were not here when, according to some mad raving from our troops, a miasma of fear and horror robbed them of their senses.” Shadow Weaver’s eyes floated like ghost-lights in the dark.

“You wished to be left alone for your experiment, my lord-”

“DO NOT give me excuses!” Hordak roared. Thrusting his head forward to glare down at her. “What good is a Second-In-Command, a sorceress, and a soldier who fails to answer the call for even  _ one  _ of those roles?” He bit back a fit of hard gurgling as the amniotic blood flowed sluggishly through his veins. By all the universe, he felt like he’d aged a century. His hand gripped the sword to steady himself.

“I can offer you my deepest regrets, sire,” Shadow Weaver bowed low, like a woman accepting the headsman's axe, “and promise that this will not happen again under my watch. The power of the Alignment was all that the legends say and I have been comatose in my chambers for the last several hours.”

“Is that supposed to persuade me that this isn’t your fault?” Hordak growled, his tone quiet but dangerous.   
“I admit I...underestimated the Black Garnet’s potency-”    
“An underestimation. One that, in one night, nearly brought the Horde to ruin. Magic is your self-proclaimed skill, Shadow Weaver, and when magic threatened this place you were useless. Do you appreciate how clear this failure of yours is to understand? Or must I elaborate? ”

“Lord Hordak, I know I have erred greatly. But I have erred whilst carrying out your orders. The chaos of magic is exactly alike the chaos of a battlefield. Syphoning that immeasurable power to you took strength few mages of Etheria possess. If in performing this task I have allowed myself to be blindsided, I beg you to understand it was  _ not  _ by choice or by cowardice.”   
“ **No** . Worse than that. It was pure weakness!” Shadow Weaver’s eyes closed against his voice, her body grimacing in pain. “Weakness, Shadow Weaver. Use whatever synonym comforts you on yourself, but never me. You were lacking in what was necessary to either prevent this catastrophe or deal with its aftermath. Be it strength or wits or sheer luck, you were lacking. However,  _ if _ there is any  _ other  _ reason for your absence… it may only benefit you to admit it.” 

“I...do...not understand your meaning, my lord?” She seemed pained by the words. 

“There are disquieting rumors loose in my army, Shadow Weaver. Soldiers who’ve seen the black-heart of war, whimpering about a living shadow. A creature that has left my most decorated warriors nearly broken. Potent. Terrifying. Arriving exactly after the Alignment’s end. Certainly, such a thing must be magical? You are my expert. It is a shame you were missing when it attacked. Is that too because of your inept handling of this experiment? The one  _ you  _ insisted on?”

“My lord,” Shadow Weaver exhaled a cold breath as she felt the living darkness in her Mask’s jewel stirring hungrily, “I assure you. I gave the Fright Zone every inch of my power during the Alignment. Whatever the nature of this attack, I will unravel it and see the threat to you eliminated.”

“Weakness then,” Hordak broke in, “that is your only reason?” 

“Yes, sire, weakness. Please, forgive me.” Hordak glared at her for a long moment before she spoke once more. “I have failed you. I was weak. I will never be so weak again. I live only to serve you and the Horde.”

“I am concerned,” he said at last, eyes drilling into hers, “that not all of our soldiers feel this way.” 

“The structure of command will be once again made clear to  _ anyone _ who believes otherwise. On that point, my lord, Catra-”

“The Force Captain has the intruder in her custody,” Hordak growled, “if that is what concerns you, Shadow Weaver.” Hordak’s mind swam with the need for rest. “But he is of little concern to us at this time. The war. We resume without interruption.”

“What are your commands, Lord Hordak?” Shadow Weaver sounded almost too relieved by that.

“Feints along the mainline,” he said, “let the Rebels believe we have some grand strategy to enact before the winter sets in. There will be swift, summary punishment if they even suspect the Fright Zone suffered any kind of interruption. Impress upon all officers that, until further notice, the incident last night was nothing to be concerned about and any discussion of it will be met with harsh reprimand.”

“There will be talk nonetheless, sire, the infirmaries are groaning under the weight of injuries in nearly every wing,” Shadow Weaver moved closer, and Hordak saw that her hair hung like black eels from her head and her movements were stiff under her robe. Further weakness. “The Troops are afraid. Better to have the threat confirmed and answered. This intruder, if I understand correctly, he was only a child-”

“Your concern,” he growled, snorting as phlegm clogged his throat, this needed to end soon, “should  **not** be the intruder.”

“He came through the portal didn’t he?” Shadow Weaver breathed, memories of a day long ago surfacing. “From somewhere else...and now he’s in  _ Catra’s  _ care.” Closer now, he could see that her eyes very rarely strayed from the sword. He could’ve flown into a rage if he had the strength. Shadow Weaver’s obsession with every magical occurrence had done this to him. 

“Force Captain Catra was ordered to take the child from my sight.  _ She _ obeyed.  _ She _ was there when I requested her presence.  _ She _ was the first to respond to the summons, in fact.” Hordak paid attention to the twitch in her left eye and pushed the needle in deeper. “ _ She _ is not the reason I called you here. I endeavor to make that perfectly clear to you, Shadow Weaver.”

“As you say,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was low and dangerous, “my lord, It shall be as you wish.”

“Do you believe this groveling of yours fools me, Shadow Weaver? My *wish* is for you to perform the duties I assign you. This is not Mystacoar. Magic serves the purpose that all things serve. War.  **Our war.** The single most important war in Etheria’s history! The boy goes nowhere for now. Neither shall the sword. The Horde will not grind to a halt because you have eyes on a new protege, or wish to punish an old one.”

“Of course, my lord, but I must insist on warning you that Catra isn’t someone you can trust with this,” Shadow Weaver said at once, furious and horrified, “I know her, sire, she will do something self-serving! She likely already has, she will damage an opportunity we have to-”

“She will do as she was taught by her mentor,” Hordak said, “Remember, it was you that brought her to me after the other turned traitor.”

“ _ Adora,”  _ Shadow Weaver’s voice was harsh with emphasis, “is being misled. I brought Catra to you for punishment-”

“And did I fail to do as you wished?” Hordak sat back in his chair, comfortable at last. Shadow Weaver’s head ducked rapidly. “I am not here to cherish your loyalty or devour your flattery or humbly accept your apology. You have done great things for this army, Shadow Weaver, I do not forget that. You broke free of Etherian softness and fear to become something more than you were. To see the light in the darkness of this dim planet.” He waited and smiled when she did not speak. “But you came to me and offered yourself up to the Horde. And in the Horde all things serve a purpose. If I determined that you were better employed minding the dullest corner of our Archives...you would do so. _ ” _

“Yes…my lord,” Shadow Weaver said the words as if they nauseated her, “as you say. Always.”

“Yes,” Hordak said, “because  _ you _ came to  _ me _ .” Hordak scratched the Imp under its chin, smiling as it churred. 

“I will be in seclusion until further notice. No interruptions of any kind will be tolerated. The Fright Zone will look to you to be my voice.” Hordak’s fingers drummed on the armrest in an off-beat. “Are you fit for that purpose, Shadow Weaver?”

“It will be done, my lord.” Shadow Weaver bowed as she left, the door whining open again at signal from Hordak’s wrist communicator. He looked at the spy when they were alone in the room.

“Adora,” the spy chirped in Shadow Weaver’s voice, “is being misled.” Hordak ran a finger on the hilt of the sword, humming in thought, then shoving the questions aside. He had more important work to do. A great deal to repair and replace. He was not Shadow Weaver, his curiosity led with only enough leash to serve a purpose. .

And yet, as he rose, bracing himself on the sword, he could not deny a part his mind wondered at the possibilities.

* * *

Catra finished adjusting her mask and emerged from her wash-room fully dressed for the day. What was left of it anyway. She’d risen, miserable and desperate for more sleep, well after 1200 hours. Which was not unusual for her, to be fair, except where pain and injury came into play. And they were playing like a pair of five-year olds let out to recess early.

“Adam,” she whispered, still sounding out the name. She leaned down to the sleeping ball of blanket on the cot. “C’mon, booger, get up.” She touched his shoulder and flinched as the ball rolled off the cot in reflex. Blue-eyes peeked out between the fabric and the edge of the cot, hard and suspicious. Then they brightened like a pair of flares going off. The blanket slipped off him, unveiling honey-blonde hair and a tiny, vibrating body.

Catra was taken aback. She played calm and cool most days, indifferent to emotions and reactions, but what she saw caught her off-guard. The brief wariness was gone and…it had been a very long time someone had looked so happy to see her.

“Ca-tra!” He thumped himself on the chest. “Adam!” He giggled happily. “Adam.”

“Yeah, yeah” Catra said, “I didn’t forget, you goof.” She pointed at him. “Adam.” Pure joy sparked off in his irises. He jumped at her, arms and legs wrapping around shoulders and waist, to press his face affectionately into her neck.

“Ca-tra,”he sang. Catra frowned and wiggled until he slid down to hug her ankles. When he looked up at her she shook her head firmly.

“No,” she said. She drew a circle around herself. “No, Adam.” She mimed pushing him back. “Personal space. Don’t do that.” Adam scooted backwards, gazing longingly at her but she was pleased to find him receptive. “I’ve got a bubble. See? A bubble.”

“Hmmm?” Adam tilted his head, crossing his legs under himself. Catra rolled her eyes.

“Later. For now.” She rested a hand on her stomach. “How ya feeling?” She mimed grimacing, holding her belly. “Your guts still pointy?”

“Oh,” Adam said. He shook his head, grinning wide and pointing at her. “Catra.”

“Stop it,” Catra whined, “I can see you…hugging me with your eyes. Don’t make such a big deal out of it. Pay me back with taking over Etheria.” She mimed eating. “Up for some food?” He looked at her sheepishly and shook his head. But when his belly growled like a wolverine cub Catra snickered.

“Sure, you’re not,” she said, “c’mon, I’m hungry too.” She smiled and waved him forward. What, exactly, that meant to him she wasn’t certain but he looked at her in pure, awed disbelief. He mimed eating with a curious quirk of his eyebrows. “Yeeeeees. C’mon, it’s not a flanking maneuver, kid.” The boy offered no comment, his face was breaking into a smile of pure, humble adoration. He stood rapidly, paused as he made a little circle, and thought hard for a minute.

He gave Catra one of his increasingly familiar goofy grins, and mimed hugging as tight as he could. Catra’s face heated up in embarrassment.

“Could you please not do that?” She grumbled. “I have street cred I’m trying to keep.” She opened the door to her quarters and waited in the hallway. Adam paused in the doorway, glancing both directions nervously. His chest started to pulse rapidly under his shirt, his pupils growing, and his shallow breaths becoming louder in her ears. He stepped backwards, hair flying as he shook his head.

“Everything has to be difficult,” Catra grumbled, “Adam, don’t be a wuss. No one is going to bother you if you’re with me.” Adam started gesturing strangely, like he was pulling something around his head. “What? I don’t have time for a guessing game, Adam, I’m starving. Let’s go already.”

Adam snatched the blanket off the floor and wound it around himself like a hood and tunic. Catra cupped her face and groaned.

“No,” she said, “No tunic.”

“Ah?” The boy said. He looked perturbed and then raced into the washroom.

“Am I being punished for something?” Catra sighed. The boy ran back out, bare feet slapping on the floor, to thrust an empty, grimy lavender soap bottle into Catra’s face. She took it back and flicked it into a corner of the hallway. “Thanks. What was that about?”

The boy pointed at the bottle, mimed his tunic, and then pointed at Catra.

“No give-backsies,” Catra said, shaking her head, “that thing is disgusting.” Adam shook his head and his little face twisted up.

“Adam,” he said, pointing at himself.

“Too bad,” Catra said, “it's gross and you don’t need it anymore. Besides, it would make you stand out which, trust me, you do not want around here.” The boy scratched at his hair, thinking furiously and swung both hands in a wide arc. “The sword?” His eyes lit up and Catra realized that, somewhere deep down, he must know a few words. She frowned and mimed pulling up a hood. “Might as well ask for the tunic again, you’d get that back first.” He mimed at her. “No! Not really! Forget it. No.”

“No?!” Adam squeaked indignantly. He flipped the ‘hood’ of his blanket back up, patting himself on the chest. “ _ Adam!” _

“Well not anymore they aren’t!” Catra yelled. She winced and looked around the hallway rapidly. “OK, booger,” she said at a harsh whisper, “last chance to come get food with me. Otherwise, you gotta stay in that room until I come back. Going once? Twice?” Adam turned around, blanket trailing as he stomped away, and curled up into a ball on the floor. “Ok, fine, brat! You’re welcome, by the way, for the food I’m getting  _ for you.” _

She shut the door, made sure it was locked and stalked away down the hall.

“Doesn’t know how good he’s got it.”

The South-Eastern mess-hall was bustling when she arrived. The lunch rush had ended but there was rarely ever a time when the place was empty. Patrols flocked here to catch a break outside the eye of uptight superiors. The roar of conversation was especially loud today and the topic of all discussions was easy to guess.

“Bam! The lights cut off again and the engineer throws the breaks on. Yeadon flew the whole monorail car, shoulder-first into a plexiglass window. She’s sitting in the Infirmary holding room, loopy on painkillers.” A long-table of Horde infantry whistled and chimed in as the speaker finished.

“Still on call,” a hollow-eyed medic said to one of her comrades, “some of those guys from the square…the things they were screaming about…I’m not sleeping anytime soon, believe me. But if I hear that pager go off one more time I’ll go into a fit.”

“Everybody keeps razzing me,” a human youth complained to a tall, horned woman with Sergeant’s bars, “they’re saying I was sleeping on the job. My radio cut out. Everybody’s did!”

“Sounds like you got no reason to be ashamed then,” the woman sighed back, “come on, little bro, I’ve got exactly two minutes to eat my lunch. You should be back on the wall before someone sees you down here.”

“But that’s…hey…that’s…sis, look that’s her!” Catra’s ears swiveled but she gave no other sign of acknowledgement.

“Shut your mouth,” the Sergeant growled, “right now. Get out here before you get in real trouble.”

Slowly, she could hear the conversation dying off at each stainless steel table she passed. A grin curled slowly onto her face as new, whispered words, reached her.

“So…it was her? She saved Hordak’s life?”

“Just a kid.”

“Hey, I saw those guys laid out in the square. And the sword mark in the concrete, man. Something went down, and she was the last one standing.”

“Catra. That’s the name. Yeah. Force Captain Catra.”

She turned her head towards the last speaker, testing the waters with a lazy glance. The two soldiers, men in their thirties with huge Horde symbols tattooed on their foreheads, tensed and then scrambled to their feet to salute.

“At ease,” she purred. She strutted the rest of the way to the special room off at the back of the mess-hall. It gave her a special feeling of victory to pass beneath the ‘Officers Only’ sign this afternoon. She grabbed a tray in each hand with nary a protest from the attending mess-personnel, and had them each piled upon with a grayish casserole of some kind. Complete with three crackers in a plastic sheaf per serving. A veritable cornucopia by Horde standards.

The cafeteria was still quiet and observant as she re-emerged. Now though, a tension had entered the room and centered itself around a looming figure blocking her way out. He was enormous, perhaps two inches taller than Scorpia, and much broader of shoulder. Blue-skinned, bald-headed, and hugely featured save for the beady eyes that appeared comically small in his huge head. What stood out most of all, and at last clued her in to his identity, was his huge lantern jaw, shifting with a toothy, mile-tall grin.

“Somebody’s hungry,” he said in a voice deep as a forgotten dungeon, “unless that’s lunch for two?” The warden’s symbol, Horde wings on either side of an ornate key, bulged on his shirt as his muscles flexed with each movement. Kronis, Warden of the Fright Zone, though known far more often by his nickname.

“Trap-Jaw,” Catra said, “there a reason you’re bothering me?”

“Forgive me, Lord Catra,” the big man stepped aside, “know you’ve got important work to do. Yeah, best friends with Lord Hordak now, the way I hear it.” Catra slipped past, head held high, She restrained a grimace as a massive hand landed ‘amicably’ on her bad shoulder. “In fact…need me to carry that for you? We should all be bending over backwards for you, Force Captain, seeing you  _ saved us _ and all. Food’s for the little freak, isn’t it?”

“That’s not really your business, Warden, is it?”

“Actually,” Trap-Jaw chuckled like an earthquake, “it really is. See. I think you need some tips on how to keep a prisoner. Normally, I don’t give,” he raised his voice so everyone could hear, “an  **enemy** who injured  **a hundred of our guys,** special food from the officer’s mess.” Catra cast her eyes around the hall, finding no-one willing to meet her gaze. “You spoon-feed him too? Wipe his little lips for him?”

“You’re the one here who’s gonna need spoon-feeding,” Catra growled, “if you don’t get your hand off me.” The huge hand let go, the Warden circled her, throwing her into his long shadow.

“So you think you can do my job?” Kronis’s grin seemed less friendly, and it had already been hostile. “I know you’ve got some big play in mind, I’ve heard about your little demonstration in Horde Square. But if half the stuff I’ve heard is true…that thing should be nowhere else but a cell. I’m in charge of prisoners for a good reason. No jarhead, whatever her rank, is gonna start making people doubt that.”

Catra smiled and then giggled. Trap-Jaw’s brow wrinkled.

“Aww, big guy, is that what this is about? Did someone say something mean to you? Or are you worried because all the other kids got to play last night and you weren’t invited?” Catra grinned. “Funny. You know, Force Captain Mosquitor flew in allll the way from Sand Valley. Dragstor from the outskirts. Old man Admiral Leech even got a whole garison up from the harbor… Oh, actually…he must’ve passed  _ right by the Prison, _ huh? Funny. You still didn’t show.” She felt the eyes around them sliding back towards Trap-Jaw.

“There was a power outage,” Trap-Jaw said, suddenly looking flustered, “I was in the prison doing my job. Keeping a riot from breaking out.” Catra could’ve curled up in his frustration like it was a warm ray of light. The feeling of this attention, this fear. She grinned. Power. The sumptuous first tastes of it.

“Better hurry back,” Catra grinned, “make sure there’s not one happening now.” She flicked her tail. “I’ll hold down the rest of the Fright Zone for you, Warden.” She called over her shoulder. “And as for your question about the kid? The one who turned into a giant with skin hard as concrete? No. I don’t spoon-feed him... He eats out of my hand.”

She made it two hallways away before bursting into a fit of excited giggles.

“Oh,” she sighed, leaning against a wall, “Oh man, I wonder if there’s a recording of that on the security cams I could find somewhere.”

“Oh, Catra, there you are!” Catra actually found herself smiling at Scorpia, so good was her mood. “Lunch-time, huh? How’s-”

“Here,” she passed one of the tray’s into Scorpia’s pincers. Scorpia’s eyes bugged as she struggled to hold it, whispering desperate ‘no-no-no’s as the plate on it slid around precariously. She finally managed to grasp it and smiled fondly.

“Thanks, Catra, but I just had some food with my ma so-”

“It’s not for you. It’s for Adam,” Catra snapped. She didn’t see how Scorpia deflated at that.

“Yeah, that’s not surprising,” Scorpia perked up, “Adam? Who’s that?” She blinked and gasped. “Wait! He has a name now? He told it to you?”

“No, I can read minds,” Catra said, groaning when Scorpia’s mouth dropped open, “yes, he told me, dummy! Scorpia, I swear you do this as an act sometimes.”

“So where’s he from? Why’d he come here?” Scorpia fell into step, half-focused on keep the tray stable in her claws. Catra thought about how hard it had been to get a name out of him.

“Still working on that,” Catra said, then paused as she walked, hearing Scorpia scoot to a halt and grapple with her tray, “he’s…having trouble understanding. I don’t know what his deal is but it's gonna take him a while to answer questions like that.”  _ Yea _ .  _ Time we don’t have… _

“Can I meet him?” Scorpia asked. “I mean, y’know, without a threat to our lives distracting us this time?”

“Hmmf,” Catra frowned, “maybe if he’s not being all moody.”

“Awww,” Scorpia said, “is he upset?” Catra shot her a glare.

“Seriously? It’s just that quick with you, huh? He bit me, Scorpia, and threw water in my face when I was trying to help him! And today, he threw a whole temper tantrum just because I couldn’t get him his sword, and I wouldn’t let him have his gross little tunic back! He needs to learn the way things work here. ASAP.” Catra growled. “That tunic. Should’ve trashed it on my way to the mess-hall.”

“Trashed it?” Scorpia stopped suddenly. “Like, just get rid of it?” she asked. Catra huffed. 

“No. Frame it and hang it up on my wall. Of course I mean get rid of it! He doesn’t need it anymore. He has real clothes now, plus that thing’s disgusting.” She paused as she realized Scorpia wasn’t following her. “What, Scorpia? What do you have to say about this?”

“Maybe…” Scorpia trailed off, “just a suggestion. Maybe we don’t go down that road?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m just guessing here, but maybe it's important to him! And it’s not like he can get his sword back. Then he’d turn into the big guy and then just… whoo! Just run at the nearest living thing and  _ kill it _ . Heheh. That’s a big no-go. But the tunic is just clothes, right? He might need it.”

“I got him clothes,” Catra grumbled, “what’s so special about some stupid tunic?”

“No no. Need it to feel  _ safe _ . You had a blankie when you were little, right?” Catra flinched.

“‘Blankie’?” Catra stuck her tongue after saying the word. “What are you talking about?” Scorpia smiled warmly.

“When you were a little…aw, you were a little kitten I bet! Weren’t you…sorry,” she stopped at the look she was getting, “When you’d have nightmares or something, what’d you do?”

_ Snuggle with Adora until the bad thoughts went away. _

“Pffft. Unlike some of us, I was actually tough back then,” Catra scoffed, “I was fine. I never had nightmares.”  _ Especially not about getting dragged underwater by a monster, or Shadow Weaver coming to get me, or Adora disappearing. Shut up, brain!  _ “Blankie, are you kidding? Sounds more like ‘wuss-badge’ or something.”

“I’m just saying,” Scorpia went on patiently, “that Adam might need that to feel like he’s safe. In control. It’s just something kids do, and if you take that from him… well, what’s the harm in him keeping it?” Catra snarled at the suggestion, suddenly angry. A blankie. Boo-hoo-hoo. So the kid didn’t get what he wanted, big deal. That was life in the Fright Zone.

“No way. It’s gross. It’ll make him sick. It goes in the trash.”

“Y-You could clean it!” Scorpia offered.

“I could also jump backwards down a flight of stairs, Scorpia. Quit-”

“I’ll clean it!” Scorpia beamed. “That’ll be  _ my contribution _ to the Operation Boy From-”

“Stop,” Catra said, “fine. You clean it. You better do a good job. If it’s still gross when you bring it back,  _ you  _ throw it away.” She frowned at the way Scorpia seemed eager to take the challenge. “You’re such a sap. C’mon. I want to eat.” Scorpia unconsciously saluted. 

“Can doooooooo not let go, Scorpia!” Scorpia yelped, racing to re-balance the tray. Catra shook her head and made for her quarters, mulling over the concept Scorpia offered. Even if Scorpia cleaned the thing, she had little intention to actually return it. It’d be counterproductive in the long run. 

_ ‘Blankie’. Stupid. Weak. What’s he got to be afraid of right now? Hordak isn’t calling for his head yet, and I’m watching his back. Everyone knows better than to mess with me. Who’s gonna bother him? _

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


__ __ Adam growled right back at his stomach, feeling petulant and miserable. He’d been bad again. Catra was being nice to him. Catra was going to bring more food after he ate all of hers the night before. He fiddled with his long, blonde hair, recalling how Catra helped him clean it all.

Why couldn’t he just be good? But… it was his tunic! He’d always had it since the Other One saved his cub from the Purple Panthor. He could still remember it. The sight of the huge, muscular feline dragging down the cub’s mama, roaring triumphantly to the wasteland sky. The cub limping away towards the castle moat, yowling and favoring an injured paw that wouldn’t heal right.

The Other One had been reluctant, but Adam had begged him to help, had used the sword without being told, and the Other One saved the cub. And when Adam came back he’d made a tunic for him.

**I knew you’d need it. And I was glad to give you a friend.** Adam gasped and looked up.  **You must escape this room. The sword...the...sword...**

“Catra,” Adam said.  **You mustn’t trust her. Ever…. She means... to use you.**

“No!” Adam snapped. Catra was the nicest person ever.  **Your cheek. It still hurts, doesn’t it?** Adam rubbed at the spot, a bruise was forming there and it was tender.  **You are no t… s a f e…** “Ah?” Adam squinted, trying to hear the Other One’s words. But he was trailing away, vanishing again like he had before. He growled, huddled into the blanket, hating how unlike his tunic it was. He missed playing with the teeth-tie on it, it helped him calm down. Catra had to give it back. She was too nice not to. And his sword.

She didn’t think he’d use it to hurt her, could she? He’d never let the Other One hurt her. Maybe if he was good enough, she’d see that? His stomach growled. He hoped she came back soon. He was so hungry. As if his thoughts summoned her, he heard the door-noise chirp and the strange metal panel swoosh upwards.

“Ca-tra!” He stood up and popped his head out of the blanket. He grinned and tried to look as grateful as he felt.

Numb fear bloomed outwards from between his shoulder-blades, making the small hairs on his neck stand up. The creature in the doorway was  _ not  _ his new friend.

“And here you are,” a dark, feminine voice whispered, “the little boy who’s made such a big mess of things.” Eyes. He noticed the eyes first of it all. Pale and white like a dead person’s. But not so blessedly lifeless. She couldn’t be a ghost, could she? Dead things did not talk.

Except…for one. The skull. Yes. She was exactly like the skull. Something…wrong about her. Something that crept into his mind and made him want to squeeze into a crack in the walls and hold his breath. The mask was next. An angry, furious red in the shape of a gaping mouth, with a maroon jewel swirling with dark shadows. Long pointed ears, knifing out from tresses of midnight-black hair.

“Um,” Adam said, curling his fingers tighter into the blanket. He glanced into the hallway, hoping against all odds that Catra would emerge behind the stranger. But as the figure… _ glided _ …forward into the room the door closed behind it. The room was suddenly much smaller than it was before, Adam thought.

The woman stopped a few inches before him, looking down, her hidden face turned towards his.

“You are even less than what I expected,” she said, low and husky, “I can see it. In your vacant little eyes I find absolutely no intelligence.” Suddenly she sounded bright and happy. “You don’t even know what I’m saying. do you, little monkey? If I swore to drag you from this room by your lice-ridden hair… oh, but I said it just so…” she carded her fingers through Adam’s hair and he slowly relaxed, smiling hopefully at her, “…yes, I can see her plan now clearly. A little pet for her to play with. Aren’t you, you pathetic little creature?” She laughed quietly, cooing. “You have no clue, do you? What you’ve stolen from me. You’ll just go right on smiling that empty-headed smile because someone is being  _ kind  _ to you.”

Adam smiled at the nice lady, feeling foolish for being so afraid. Her fingers scratched gently at his scalp, soothing and patient. Was everyone in this place so friendly? He grinned at her.

“Now,” she cooed, “aren’t you just a precious thing? Precious things should be careful. You don’t know me, little one, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Adam blinked, mesmerized by the twinkling jewel on the lady’s mask and as he looked he saw the shadows in it take shape. He saw red eyes with black pupils glare at him with all the hatred they could muster. He felt the tug in his stomach that told him magic was nearby, right before fear made it go numb. 

The Other One thundered in his mind. 

**GET AWAY FROM HER! GET AWAY!**

“Oh, yes,” she said, “you’re beginning to understand now, aren’t you? You’ve done something very bad.” Her fingers left his hair and steepled in front of her chest, tapping together rhythmically. “Unruly little child. What am I going to do with you?”

Adam threw himself away from her.

“There you are,” she said, “I’d heard you were a fighter.” Adam hissed and snapped his teeth. “ _ Oh, my _ . How very scary.” She did something. The room dimmed and shadows began appearing along the wall. Red-eyed and hungry. “You are being quite rude. And I do not tolerate rudeness.”

Adam’s whimper choked in his throat. The fight left him at once and fell to the ground and hugged his knees, hiding his face. The darkness. She’d summoned the darkness that had attacked him last night. 

**No,** the Other One said,  **she is...the...d a r k n e s s**

Then Adam realized he was alone with the lady of shadows. 

* * *

  
  


Shadow Weaver’s nose wrinkled in disgust. This was the great beast that had nearly destroyed the Fright Zone? She dismissed her shadow servants with a flick of her wrist but the boy continued to cry.

“Tears will not help you,” she said, “or spare you any punishment.”

The boy sobbed. Shadow Weaver strode across the room, snatched the edge of his too-large shirt and wrenched him to his feet. He shut his eyes and shook his head rapidly.

“Look at me,” she said. The boy did so, squinting through tear-filled, terror-shrunken eyes. “You have done a bad thing. You have taken something from me, child, and I can simply not allow that to pass unanswered. I will endeavor to teach you  _ many  _ lessons in your time here, whatever little of it remains. I am always a teacher at heart.”

She cupped his face in her free hand, forcing him not to turn away. She dug a thumb into his cheek, scraping away a line of tears. Dark Dream howled for blood inside the jewel on her mask. The boy kicked his foot out, rustling the side of her robes to no effect.

“I see you will be a  _ difficult  _ pupil,” Shadow Weaver’s nail pressed in a little harder. “Ah, but I have never given up on a student and you have my full attention now.” 

“Catra!” The boy lurched to the side, Shadow Weaver held tight to his shirt, pulling him back with an angry rasp of air. 

“Even if she was here you...you...what is this? What are these clothes you are wearing?” She saw an angular symbol peeking over his shoulder as the material bunched up under her grip. She spun him in place, fingers biting into his shoulders as she rage filled her throat with a steam-like hiss. 

The symbol on the back of the shirt was unmistakable. The design was her own gift to Adora. An echo of the Force Captain’s badge she was destined to wear. Catra. Catra had done this.

“You,” Shadow Weaver said through her teeth, “you filthy little animal!” She spun him back to face her, screaming into his face. “How  _ dare you _ ! What is she going to wear when she comes home? Those are not yours, do you understand me! Ruined. Covered in your filthy reeking stench…your…no, that smell. She wouldn’t  _ dare  _ go that far.” Shadow Weaver’s nose twitched at the smell of lavender. Stolen. Looted. Everything she’d ever done, every gift she’d given and all the time she’d spent caring for her Adora. It meant absolutely nothing.

Catra had stolen her future. Now she’s stealing the bits of her legacy that still remained.

The bubble of fury that filled her suddenly burst, compounded by the effort of the last three days. The boy thudded to the ground when her hands released him and he scurried under Catra’s bed with a yelp of terror.

Shadow Weaver’s breathing became erratic, moisture ran down the inside of her mask, her vision blurred, and she opened her mouth around an emotion so strong that it ripped her voice.

“A…A-dora…a…ah,” the name shrank to the single, gasping syllable of a miserable sob. The smell of lavender conjured up memories that only deepened her sorrow.

  
  
  


_ “But Catra said it smells so weird!” Adora was thirteen, safely within Shadow Weaver’s chambers. She had shot up to half the exiled witch’s height and promised to grow even taller. _

__ __ _ Her Adora never disappointed her. _

__ __ _ “Catra is a little animal who licks herself clean, Adora, I would not put much stock in her tastes.” _

__ __ _ “The other soap didn’t smell.” _

__ __ _ “It didn’t have a ‘scent’, Adora. Saying ‘smell’ like that sounds so very dull-witted.” _

__ __ _ “Catra says it like that,” Adora frowned. Shadow Weaver sighed. _

__ __ _ “Precisely my point. Must you associate with her so often? She appears to be a poor influence on your grammar and a rather judgmental little thing.”  _

__ __ _ “She is not!” Shadow Weaver smiled under her mask. In Mystacoar, so many of her colleagues found teenagers tiresome, but Shadow Weaver believed they were far more interesting students. So full of fire and certainty as they became young adults, and yet still so easy to mold. Her Adora, naturally, was opinionated, loyal, and more than brave enough to argue. _

__ __ _ “Adora, a real friend would tell you -as I should rightly know- that it is a lovely scent. Even if she feels otherwise, she might compliment you anyway. That’s what friends do. Lift each other up.” Adora crossed her arms.  _

__ __ _ “Catra is my friend,” she said, “and friends don’t lie to each other either!” _

__ __ _ “A compliment is not a lie, Adora, it is a courtesy. Friends pay each other courtesy. Did you feel good about yourself when Catra said your hair ‘smelled’?” Shadow Weaver shook her head as Adora’s face fell.  _

__ __ _ “No...I felt...smelly,” Adora admitted, “...it did hurt my feelings.”  _

__ __ _ “And did Catra apologize when she saw it hurt your feelings?” Shadow Weaver waited for the obvious answer.  _

__ __ _ “No. I didn’t tell her. Cuz-” _

__ __ _ “ ‘Because’,” Shadow Weaver corrected gently. _

__ __ _ “-because she’d just make fun of me for being a baby.” _

__ __ _ “Does that sound like something a friend would do, Adora? Make you feel so small? Or does a friend tell you how nice you look? How lovely your hair is now that it's being given proper care?” _

__ __ _ “Maybe,” Adora said, “maybe Catra feels left out? Maybe if I gave her some of the-” _

__ __ _ “Never,” Shadow Weaver snapped, then quickly pivoted back to a gentler tone, “that is my gift to you, Adora, not to her.” She glared at herself in the Black Garnet and whispered. “Now if I could simply gift you a better friend.” _

__ __ _ “What?” _

__ __ _ “ ‘What was that you said, Shadow Weaver?’ Really, Adora, I despair at the way you’re adopting such…truncated ways of speaking. Your voice is so resonant and powerful! A commander’s voice. Don’t squander it on ‘what’ like an illiterate spearman.” Adora scowled. Shadow Weaver watched her with pride in the reflection of the Black Garnet. _

__ __ _ “I don’t want the soap!” Adora declared. _

__ __ _ “Hair-and-body wash.” Shadow Weaver corrected as she passed her hand across the rippling surface of the runestone. _

__ __ _ “Whatever!” Ah, there it was. The rallying cry of the adolescent. _

__ __ _ “Adora, if you don’t wish to use it, I will not force you,” Shadow Weaver turned and floated toward her, “I wanted to give you a present for the marks you received in the Future Force Captains exam last week. I fear that I’ve neglected to properly praise you. You are so talented as it is, that I’ve perhaps learned to take your excellence for granted.” The witch’s hands, which had taken a dozen lives, gently fixed her loose hair. “Are we trying something new with our hair?” _

__ __ _ “I’m not putting it back in a pony-tail,” Adora said adamantly, “I like it this way.” _

__ __ _ “Untamed?” _

__ __ _ “Mhmm.” _

__ __ _ “Uncontrolled?” _

__ __ _ “Yes.” _

__ __ _ “Like Catra told you to?” _

__ __ _ “Exactly…” her little look of surprise made Shadow Weaver stifle a laugh. “So…what if it is? I’m not allowed?” There was a real question there, not just rhetorical teenaged fire. Her Adora would never disobey her, really. _

__ __ _ “You are special, Adora,” Shadow Weaver sighed, “and may do with your hair what you please. Use my gift or do not use it. That freedom is what you deserve, because you are special.” She rose, folded her hands behind her back, and turned away. She heaved a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “But I was hoping you might like the…scent…of it.” _

__ __ _ “I do!” There she was. Her Adora. “I do! Catra’s just…jealous…I guess. She doesn’t get to decide what I do with my hair or what soap-er, hair-and-body wash I use!” _

__ __ _ “No, Adora, she doesn’t.” Shadow Weaver grinned under her mask. A pair of arms circled her, much higher than they used to. A little twinge of sadness touched Shadow Weaver’s dark heart with an old, long absent ache. Adora was growing up so fast. _

__ __ _ “And-and I don’t like having my hair this way. Catra told me to do it cuz...beacuse she said my pony-tail looks stupid. But without it all my hair keeps getting in my face! I can’t see when I fight!” _

__ __ _ “How very practical, Adora. As always. Would you like me to re-tie it for you?”  _

__ __ _ “Yes, thank you, Shadow Weaver.” The witch’s hand stroked her hair gently, gathering it up from her face with a careful hand.  _

__ __ _ “You’re very welcome, Adora.” _

  
  


__

  
  
  


__ __ “You were supposed to be home by now,” Shadow Weaver whispered to herself, looking around the Force Captain quarters, “this would have been your room. All the things I did to secure it for you! I did so much for you...more than anything I wanted you to be great. And...now, oh, Adora…

A small hand touched her shoulder. She turned and beheld the pitying eyes of a strange child. A child who, for the slightest instant, looked so much like her Adora when she was small.

“No!” She stumbled back as if scalded, voice erupting into a snarl. “No, you will not take another thing of hers! Do you hear me? Nothing else! Get away! Away!” The boy quickly obeyed and vanished back under the bed. Adora’s bed by rights.

She was too weak to handle this now and that knowledge consumed her with fury. Shadow Weaver passed her hand over the key panel and nearly walked directly into Catra and Scorpia.

“What are you doing here!?” Shadow Weaver and Catra blurted at each other.

“What? This is my room!” Catra shouted.

“No, it isn’t! You didn’t earn this and you  _ never will _ !” Shadow Weaver snarled.

“Seriously, you came all the way here just to do this? I didn’t suddenly forget that you hate me.”

“Glib. Oh, always so glib. Always so disrespectful and petty and  _ small _ ! But this is a low thing to do, even for you.  _ Even for you, Catra! _ ” Shadow Weaver regained some small aspect of self-control. If she’d had her powers right then, she’d have ripped the whole wing of the Fright Zone asunder.

“I’m sure,” Catra growled through her fangs, “now, maybe tell me what it is that’s ‘too low for me’ and why you’re in my room!” Her voice cracked harshly.

“You stole Adora’s clothing and property to use it on that  _ little urchin _ !”

“Urchin?” Scorpia said. “What’s an urchin?” Dead white eyes and gold-blue eyes nearly blasted her away with their intensity. If she’d had the presence of mind, Scorpia might’ve joined the boy in hiding under the bed. “Actually, I can wait on that. Take your time. Heh.” The tray in her claws rattled as she stood there, trying to blend in with the metal walls.

“Adam needed clothes,” Catra said, “he needed to be cleaned up. It was the middle of the night, what was I supposed to do!? I had to do something!”

_ Adam.  _ Shadow Weaver’s unraveling thoughts split further around the name.  _ Even his name is mocking hers. _

“You did this on purpose,” Shadow Weaver jabbed her finger at Catra, speaking in a grated whisper from all the shouting, “you did this because you’re jealous of her!”

“Better jealous than crazy. That alignment of yours knock something loose?”

“Those items were _ my gifts _ to Adora. Not to a little troglodyte you want to keep as a pet!” Catra’s hackles stood straight up.

“He’s not a…whatever you just said…he’s just a little boy,” Catra’s eyes grew intense. “Even *you* can’t fault me for helping a kid!” She suddenly laughed darkly. “Oh, who am I kidding. Of course you could!”

“Those belonged to Adora!”

“Adora is  **gone** !” Catra shrieked. “And she isn’t coming back!  **Ever** !” Shadow Weaver’s hand snapped out and slapped her across the face. Catra went silent, so suddenly humiliated she couldn’t speak.

Catra’s tray clattered to the ground, and the hem of Shadow Weaver’s robes trailed through the gray mush as she forced Catra, by her shoulders, against the far wall of the corridor.

“You,” Shadow Weaver hissed, “know  _ nothing _ . About Adora. About anything. A stupid, witless child. Always screaming for attention! Always whining for something she hasn’t earned! And always,  _ always  _ jealous of Adora! I will bring her back, Catra, mark my words.” Catra glared at her, but Shadow Weaver saw the fear hidden beneath and reveled in it.

“But my one joy, in this veil of tears, Catra, is that while Adora is lost to me…”

The crazed witch leaned past her face and hissed directly into her left ear, making Catra’s blood run ice-cold.

“…at least she’s nowhere near  _ you _ , anymore.”

Catra’s mouth quivered around her teeth and she squinted into Shadow Weaver’s face.

“You will come to the Black Garnet Chamber first thing tomorrow. Do not defy me.” Shadow Weaver’s voice, still low and dangerous, had regained its normal authority.

Shadow Weaver released her and vanished into the long, dark shade of the corridor a moment later.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care what Shadow Weaver thought. Something had happened and that woman had lost what little sense she had left. Catra was the talk of the Horde and soon she’d be as good as Shadow Weaver. Soon she’d have Shadow Weaver’s job.

She didn’t care what the witch had said. 

“Catra, are you… wait-” Scorpia asked, her voice cracking. 

Catra shook her head and waved her away as she stormed into her room. She slid a hand over the door and barely heard it slam shut. Her hunger wasn’t even registering anymore. She didn’t feel like eating ever again.  _ Scorpia,  _ Catra’s stomach twisted with nausea,  _ Scorpia saw all of that.  _

It didn’t matter. She did not care what the witch had said. 

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping away a stray tear, “I don’t care! I’m fine!”

She gripped the sheets on her bed tightly and tried to understand the secret of Scorpia’s ‘safety blanket’. It didn’t help at all. Which made sense, of course, but it didn’t matter what Shadow Weaver said..

Because she did  _ not  _ care. She nearly yelped when something peeked over the edge of her bed.

“Ca-tra?” a small, barely used voice asked her. Adam used his big expressive eyes to ask the rest of the question.  _ What’s wrong?  _

**_He_ ** _ saw it all too.  _ It wasn’t fair. She was finally getting some respect and Shadow Weaver had to ruin it for her, like always, because she’d committed the crime of not being precious, perfect Adora. 

__ __ Her prickling eyes narrowed and her trembling lips pulled back over her fangs. A growl rose in her chest to rumble throughout the room. Adam sank down with a little gasp but he wouldn’t take his eyes off hers. His blue eyes, hidden in blonde hair. He really did look too much like Adora. 

He was worried. Worried for her. Worried like Adora was whenever Shadow Weaver yelled at her in the past. Come to hold her hand and tell her it was ok. To make empty promises.

“I don’t,” Catra said, “ _ need _ your pity.”

He couldn’t understand and he tried to hold her hand. She tucked it under her chest and leaned forward with a sneer. 

“What do you know? Hmm? What’s going on inside that tiny brain of yours!? Anything!?” 

Adam’s head tilted a little, watching her closely. 

“You want something now? You want food? Your stupid smelly tunic? Your sword?” Her ears flattened back and her tail whipped the air in agitation. She wanted him to say yes. 

Adam’s eyes brightened at the word sword. 

_ Do it. Throw another tantrum, brat, see what happens! _

__ __ He reached out, Catra tensed, and he froze suddenly. He mimed the image of a bubble around Catra, then took a few steps away.

“No,” he said, nodding solemnly. Catra’s face fell and she came back to herself. She pondered what, exactly, she’d planned to do if Adam had started causing trouble. Her eyes glanced at his bruised cheek on reflex.

Her hand twitched and she recalled the cracking sound when she slapped him the night before. It was such an ugly noise. Different from every scratch or punch she’d ever thrown. She rubbed at an identical spot on her own face. The sting had already vanished but the weight of Shadow Weaver’s hand remained there. 

“Weak,” she said, a few tears breaking past her iron will, “petty, and small. Boy, you and her both had me pegged, huh?” A sob slipped past her lips. 

“Ah!” Adam looked at her helplessly, trying to puzzle out what was happening. She saw him glance back at the door. His lips twisted into a frown and then peeled back over his blunt human teeth, a scratchy little growl built in his throat, directed at the door and, she guessed, the woman who’d left through it. Catra watched him race around the room in fascination. 

He dragged his cot over to the door, struggling to press it longways against the metal square. Then he snatched his blanket off the floor, wrapped himself up in it and sat cross-legged behind the cot, hooded head fixed on the doorway. He looked like the world’s tiniest monk meditating. 

Catra blinked and, before she could stop herself, snorted a laugh. The boy turned, head leaning far back to see under the edge of his ‘hood’. Catra, smudging away some stray tears with her palm, started to break out into an exhausted laugh. 

“What are you doing, you little goofball?” She sat up and looked down at him. “Standing watch?” Adam turned and growled at the door like a guard puppy. Catra slid from the bed and scooted over to sit next to him, snickering at the cot ‘barricade’. 

“Ca-tra,” Adam said. She looked over and saw him make the ‘bubble’ gesture around her again. She decided he could do no worse harm and nodded. He grinned, popped up off the ground and began smoothing his palm on the gray tufts of fur on her head. She grimaced and went to shoo him away but hesitated. 

“Here,” she said, voice rough from crying, “just...hold my hand if you wanna help.” She felt ridiculous. But he seemed to be bursting with joy at the feeling of her hand around his. His thumb tried to run along her palm soothingly and Catra giggled against her will as it tickled one of her lifelines. Adam grinned and did it again. 

“Hey,” she said firmly, shaking her head, “no. None of that. No tickling the Force Captain, booger.” Adam shook his head but there was an impish twinkle in his eye she didn’t trust. He listened, for now, and just held her hand. Smiling at her.

“You’re just dead-set on being nice to me, huh kid?” she asked while wiping dried tears from her face. 

“Ca-tra,” Adam said, as if it was his own version of ‘yes.’ She  sighed, 

“Well, why? We’re not  _ friends _ , Adam, not really. Look, I can help you learn how to survive, and you can return the favor, ok? Get that big guy to be mean and scary when I say so. Pulverize the people I want pulverized. Get it?” 

He cocked his head, trying to figure her out. Catra squeezed his hand once. 

“Adam,” she whined, “please, you gotta understand. This place… it’s not a good place. Ok? If they let you stay, things aren’t gonna get easier… not anytime soon. You gotta be tough. That’s how you get anywhere.” She still didn’t let go of his hand. It reminded her of when she was smaller than he was. Long before she needed to form a survival guide for every single day of her life.

“Back in the day,” she said to him wistfully, “Adora would just hold my hand like this sometimes. Or I’d hold hers. It was nice. We didn’t know how to blame each other for stuff yet or shrug stupid things off. We just...sat and didn’t say anything. Until the bad thoughts went away.”

Shadow Weaver’s words would come back later, Catra was too experienced in her cruelty to think otherwise. They always came back, in the dark, when she was least expecting them. But in the moment, the tiny creature next to her was an anchor to the real world where there was still something to do. 

“She’s  _ wrong about me, _ ” Catra said, face turning fierce again, “and I’m gonna prove it. Just you watch.” 

“Ca-tra!” He said it almost like a cheer. In his eyes was an earnestness that seemed enhanced, rather than diminished, by the huge gap between her understanding and his own. 

He was just a little kid trying, for some reason, to make her feel better. And, surprise-suprise, he had. Somehow. 

“A-dam.” She squeezed his hand and held it until the bad thoughts went away. 

__ __ “I guess,” she huffed, feeling she was admitting a fault, “I really did use to have a ‘blankie’.” Adam smiled down at their linked hands like it was the answer to every problem in the world. “But mine… mine got up and left one day.” She let go gently and raised her hand up to his face. 

“Look at your hair,” Catra said with a raspy laugh, “it looks so goofy now.” His hair was thrown around his face from all the running he’d done. Catra gathered it with her fingers, carefully, and tucked it behind his ears. “And these big jug handles you got here too. Good gracious.” She tickled his earlobes and grinned at how he giggled. She tickled harder. “Uh-oh. See how you like it, booger.” 

“Ha!” He pulled away. Catra smiled at the look on his face and picked at the blanket on his shoulders. 

“Adam the Bedtime Warrior,” she said, “look out everybody.” She got up and walked into the washroom, fished out his tunic and tried not to gag at the smell of it. “Scorpia, you better work some of that ex-Princess magic on this thing.” Adam jumped up eagerly, tossing the blanket aside. Catra shook her head at him and tried not to get mad at how he pouted. “No. Not yet.” 

She opened the door and heard Adam squeak in fright before sliding back under her bed. She thought wryly that he really was a quick learner. Scorpia stood on the far side of the ‘barricade’ looking frozen and nervous as she stared at Catra, a tray perfectly balanced in her paralyzed claws, though now a little bent and warped on the edges by her powerful grip. 

“Are you…” she paused, “is...is the little guy, ok?” Catra took the plate one hand and curled the other into the rough tunic. 

“Yeah,” she said, “he’s fine. Kids can be pretty tough sometimes.” She slapped the tunic onto the tray. “This smells like a dead animal. Fix that.” 

“Delighted to,” Scorpia let out a breath that seemed to shrink her in size, smiling, “I’ll...get it back to you tomorrow.” She leaned in slightly, calling to the bed. “It’ll be real nice and clean when it comes back, little guy, you got the patented Scorpia promise on that!” She paused. “Nice to meet you, Adam.” She gave Catra a small smile. “You...stay strong, Catra.” 

“Whatever. Bye.” She shut the door and sat down on the cot at her feet. “Hey, Adam, come here and eat.” The boy crawled out and mimed his tunic. She shook her head and the boy folded his arms with a pout. “Alright, grumpy, I know you’re crazy about that thing, but keep it together. You’re every dream will come true when Scorpia comes back tomorrow. Until then...if you’re too broken up to have lunch...I guess I can eat this mystery food all by myself.”

The boy came over slowly, trying to retain his dignity. Catra let him scoot next to her and laid the tray across both their laps. She handed him a spork, then stopped him from trying to stab the air with it. “Only a little.” She scooped up a small sporkful. “Slowly.” She exaggerated how long she chewed and swallowed the food. She divided off a small section of the food. “That’s all. And you gotta eat it slowly.” She made the ‘expanding stomach’ motion again and Adam nodded, though he didn’t look happy. 

“You’ll get there, kid,” she said, “you have to. Or else you’ll drive me crazy.” She made a loopy motion next to her ear and crossed her eyes, smiling when he laughed. 


	10. Plans, Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra attends her debriefing with Shadow Weaver, who puts the Force Captain’s plans -and patience- to the test. Meanwhlie, Scorpia and her mother discover a secret hidden in Adam’s tunic.

“Adam,” Catra said firmly, shaking her head. The little blondie scowled at her, specifically, at the half-finished brown ration bar in her raised right hand.

“Catra!” he whined. She held up her left hand, three of her fingers stood up resolutely.

“Three minutes to go, goofball, then you can have some more,” she said, for the dozenth time, “I know you wanna finish breakfast. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of other stuff on the agenda. We’re going as fast as possible here.” Catra glared at the clock overhead. 0745 Hours. If she didn’t leave soon…she tried not to think about the times from her childhood when hiding from Shadow Weaver had only stoked her fury.

“Hey!” Catra whirled around as Adam reached for the ration bar. She sat him back down with one hand, “Nice try, booger!”

“Hmmf!”

“Don’t get all pouty, Adam,” Catra groaned, “if I just let you eat it all at once it’ll make your tummy hurt. I mean, your belly hurt. Your guts hurt! Ugh! You’re starting to make me talk like a baby-sitter!”

It was incredible. She’d never seen someone so jazzed to eat a brown ration bar. She barely touched them. Something in them, food coloring or lack thereof perhaps, made her stomach bubble without fail. Not sure of what problem he was trying to solve, Adam looked at his own hand, held every finger up, and then counted down to zero himself in record-breaking speed before grunting for the bar again. 

“Wh- No! That doesn’t count, you little…alright. Y’know what? You can have some right now if you say ‘hello’ for me, like we’ve been trying. ‘Heeeelllllooooooo’.”

“Hellluuuuuuuuuuuu,” Adam howled like a little wolf. Catra rolled her eyes.

“Maybe something simpler? ‘Hi’,” she said, waving at him for emphasis.

“Hi,” Adam said, waving his hand back. Catra frowned. Saying ‘hi’ and understanding ‘hi’ were two different things, as she was realizing.

“We need to get you talking, kid, and quick. But for now, a deal’s a deal,” she shrugged and ripped off another piece of ration bar. The boy devoured it in a second and pointed at the bar once more. Catra rolled her eyes and held up all the fingers on her left hand.

“Five minutes, Adam,” she said. The boy shook his head and pointed at her. “What...

Me eat some? No, this is yours. I don’t even  _ like _ gray ration bars.” He pointed again, his eyes going stern and commanding. “Adam! I  _ don’t _ need you to look after me. Now, say ‘hi’. ‘Hi’?”

Adam crossed his arms and stared her down. Catra frowned and, reluctantly, ate the tiniest piece she possibly could.

“Oh, buh,” she said, “and these ones still make my tummy swirl. Belly. Guts! Rrrh!” She interrupted herself with a loud belch. “Ugh. That’s another kingdom on the tab for you, booger.” Adam was giggling happily and thumping his own chest. A second later the smallest, squeakiest burp she’d ever heard left his mouth.

“Heh-heh. Weak,” Catra took a deep breath and summoned up another burp, this one much longer and more musical than Adam’s. “I win.” Adam tried to mimic her and her eyes went wide at the way he was dry-heaving. “Stop! Don’t make yourself barf, you dummy!” She tore off the last bit of it she was willing to give him, stopping at half the ration bar to be safe, and pocketed the rest.

“I gotta get going, Adam. You hang in there, try not to get in trouble. I…I probably won’t be long. So, get some more sleep or play with the sink -but  **not** the toilet- until I’m back.” She passed her hand over the panel and heard the boy squeak in fright as the door wooshed open. He scurried past her and hid under the bed. He learned some things very quickly, it seemed.

“Okay, Adam,” she turned, trying to smile, and gave a wave, “bye.” The boy waved uncertainly at her from under the bed.

“Bye?” The door closed behind her. Perhaps for the last time.  _ No. Come on. Don’t think like that, it won’t help. She’s…she’s not gonna kill you. _

She strode to Shadow Weaver’s office with confident, aggressive steps at first, but the closer she came the slower she moved. Her words from last night were ringing in her ears. Open defiance. Insubordination. In the past, Shadow Weaver had hurt her for far less than screaming in her face. Perhaps, if Lord Hordak backed her up, she might be spared the witch’s wrath.

_ And why would he do that? He nearly killed you the other night. Now Shadow Weaver will finish the job. Run you idiot! Get on a skiff and get away while you still can! Grab Adam- _

__ __ The thought made her stop in her tracks. Short as their acquaintance had been, she really was spending too much time with the kid. Adam was, after all, useless without his blade or the power it imbued him with. 

_ I only need him to help get the real power I want. That I deserve! But he’s…alright. Just some little kid who’s wrapped up in all this. It’s not his fault. Or mine. I’m doing what anyone around here would do. _

Shadow Weaver was just another obstacle on that path. One she’d been dealing with since she was half of Adam’s tiny size. She stopped at a familiar corner, one she’d always dreaded. The last turn before the hallway to the Black Garnet Chamber.

_ You can face her down, Catra. You’re not a helpless little girl anymore. _

That declaration carried her to the black doors of the Black Garnet Chamber. Another stray burp bubbled up from her stomach as the nutrient-bar dissolved ungracefully in her stomach.

“And with that as my last words on Etheria…lets do this.” She rapped the door in a nervous, rhythmic way. It slid open onto a room filled with surprisingly mundane darkness. The runestone pulsed weakly, almost pitifully. However, the strange contraction of the room’s mystic power did nothing to calm Catra’s nerves.

Shadow Weaver was not, as she’d pictured in her mind, standing there with her fingers interlocked, each hand flanked by two giant hungry mouths of pure darkness. She was not floating against the ceiling in a thunderstorm of mystic power ready to be unleashed at a single gesture. She was not even looking in Catra’s direction. She saw the edge of her robes behind the Black Garnet and several gray fingers gripping a ridge of the crystal for balance.

“Honestly, Catra,” her voice was huskier than normal, like she’d inhaled a house-fire’s worth of smoke, “are you going to stand there until I celebrate your arrival, or are you going to step inside? I am working with delicate thaumaturgy just now. Not that  _ you  _ could appreciate that.”

“You…told me to come first thing.” She winced at the way the door hissed shut behind her. “So here I am.”

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver sighed, still out of sight, “You managed to follow your orders, completely  _ and  _ on time. Congratulations. The boy is where?” There was a light like a weak welding-torch flickering on the far side of the runestone. Curiosity and caution rippled down Catra’s back and made her tail twitch. Magic. Real power.

“Adam’s in my room,” Catra said, then added a moment later, “he just had something to eat.” Her eyes narrowed at the woman, rage building in her guts all over again. “What’d you do to him last night?”

“I was introducing myself. Ridiculous situation,” Shadow Weaver said, “all of this. He should’ve been brought to  _ me _ immediately, Catra. I will not forget that you did otherwise.” Catra tensed for a wave of red magic and nearly jumped when Shadow Weaver fell into a coughing fit. The sorceress stumbled a little as she rounded the Black Garnet but she kept her feet. 

“Before we begin,” she raised a hand even as she spoke, “be silent a moment.”

Shadow Weaver shuffled over to the door and reached into the depths of her robes. She withdrew her right hand with a small piece of red chalk between her thumb and fore-finger. Catra leaned forward, looking around the black-hair tumbling down the woman’s shoulder and caught sight of a small circle filled with five red swirls. Shadow Weaver’s chalk vanished and she pressed her finger-tips to the swirls.

A spark of red power jumped from the door’s surface and Catra thought for a terrible moment she’d gone deaf. Then she realized she could hear perfectly clearly, but the distant, ceaseless noises of the Fright Zone had been quieted. The Rebellion could be massacring everyone right outside and she wouldn’t know it.

“Over there,” Shadow Weaver pointed at her arcane table, “in that box. Open it.” Catra found it, dark and foreboding like everything about her harsh teacher, and opened it gingerly. She expected torture implements. She wondered if a waiting, ravenous shadow would leap out and eat her. She stared dumbly at the carefully folded clothing inside.

She stared even more uncomprehendingly at a small bottle of standard issue, unscented, Horde soap.

“This is…what is this?” Shadow Weaver sighed deeply. A stupid question, obviously. 

“Clothes that will actually fit the child,” she said, “and something for him to wash himself. He is showering once a day, I trust? You can’t be expecting him to lick himself clean.” Shadow Weaver gestured for a heavy, black-oak chair next to her table. It was a hard-earned prize of Shadow Weavers, undoubtedly; personal chairs were uncommon luxuries in the Fright Zone, more so than any crafted elsewhere in Etheria. Thin shadows danced around the Oak seat and shook it in place.

Catra, before she could stop herself, loudly scraped the legs against the floor as she began to drag it over to her.

“That was grown from a living tree by three generations of Plumerian artisans. It is over a century old. Kindly lift it, Catra, if you are so set on being useful.” Catra scowled but did as she was told. Shadow Weaver slumped into it and shut her eyes with a deep sigh of bliss.

“Happy?”

“Aren’t you?” Shadow Weaver said, a cruel smile lightening her voice, “we’ve finally found something you’re good at. With correction, of course.” She made to sit in the chair and slumped heavily into place. She gathered her robes close to herself and leaned backwards into the ‘hundred-year-old’ seat. “Ahh, excellent.” 

“Want me to find you some cozy slippers? Maybe a hot cup of tea?” she teased without thinking. 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Shadow Weaver said, “Always waiting to comment on something. But actually, yes, I think you could fetch me some tea before you go. And speaking of slippers,” she waved her hand back at the arcane table. “There are shoes under there for him… they... didn’t fit in the box. Get them. Just because you have to run around barefoot, like an animal, doesn’t mean he must.”

Catra retrieved from where they lay, far about from each other, beneath the table. They fit into the box perfectly, but she would have needed to crouch on her knees to retrieve them. She turned to face the once-imposing figure.

“Are you, uh, ok?”

“Why do you care?” She asked quietly, not bothering to turn Catra’s way.

“I- I don’t! I just..”

“I am not so frail that you need to ask after my health,” Shadow Weaver spat, turning a heavy glare in her direction, “I called you here for a report. So then, Force Captain, report. Tell me everything that occurred the night of the Alignment,  _ exactly _ as it happened. They say you were there for all of it.”

Catra’s explanation was halting at first. Shadow Weaver interrupted at intervals, to ask for clarification and to pick at certain descriptions. Catra stumbled as she mentioned the close result of her fight with the warrior. Shadow Weaver hummed loudly.

“Force Captain Scorpia’s venom is quite powerful,” Catra felt envy twist at her heart, “though she had the advantage of a weakened opponent.”

“She’s lucky I was there,” Catra spat, “everybody was!” Shadow Weaver’s head tilted slightly, white-eyes searching her. “What?”

“Why didn’t you kill the boy when he was at your mercy?” Catra felt the bit of ration bar in her stomach dance.

“He’s a little boy!”

“I am  _ right  _ here,” Shadow Weaver growled, “keep your voice down. Is that it? Your only reason for sparing him was that you couldn’t strike when you had the opportunity?” Catra withered under Shadow Weaver’s curiosity. “Children can be very dangerous, Catra, I wonder how you don’t understand that.”

“You’re sick,” Catra snarled.

“And you are an insubordinate, jumped-up little girl!” Shadow Weaver thundered suddenly, her voice cracking mid way and trailing off into a coughing fit. She loudly cleared her throat. “I am not questioning your resolve, Catra, I’m merely curious at your reason.” She settled back into her seat. “You had a reason, didn’t you? You must have.”

“I thought,” Catra squirmed, “you wanted to know about Adam?”

“I will tell  _ you _ what I wish to know, Force Captain,” Shadow Weaver said, “not the other way around. Is there some important engagement I’m keeping you from? ‘Adam’. Hm, an odd name. This is all the boy has given you?”

“Yeah,” Catra nodded, eager to talk about…literally anything else, “what’s it mean?”

“As if that could ever matter. A name is a name,” Shadow Weaver scoffed, “now proceed with your report.” 

“Well,” Catra gulped, “that was when this thing...this shadow...the thing you sent-”

“ _ I sent?  _ I sent! Is that what you’ve been telling people, Catra!? Have you been spreading lies about me?!” Shadow Weaver said suddenly, her voice dropping to a hiss.

“I just...why? What is it?” Catra felt a chill touch her spine as Shadow Weaver glared at the red chalk marks on her door. Catra considered that the noise canceling must have worked two-ways and no-one could hear what happened in the room. For instance, someone screaming out for help. 

_ That’s rich, Catra. You’re right in her clutches. Who’d be dumb enough to answer? _

“Answer my question this instant!” Shadow Weaver said. Her tone was harsh but had dimmed from the reflexive explosion it had been.

“No,” Catra said, “I just thought it was one your...shadows.” Shadow Weaver seemed to relax as if someone had announced a clerical error on her own death warrant. She tensed slightly a second later, eyes sliding suspiciously towards Catra.

“I did not send anything to aid you in that fight. I will not tolerate you implying otherwise.”

“Shocker,” Catra grumbled. She watched the woman carefully. 

“Do not be flippant with me,” Shadow Weaver growled, “and do not go telling people what you  _ think  _ this anomaly was. You don’t have even the barest magical training, Force Captain, and you should keep quiet about things you couldn’t possibly understand.” Catra scowled and pushed for information.

“What do  _ you  _ know about the ‘Dark Dream’ then? Spooky shadow magic is kinda your thing.” The accusation felt good even as the room darkened perceptibly. Red eyes, circular with no pupils, began to wink into existence around them. Hungry little sounds slobbered in her laid-back ears. Her every instinct told her to beg forgiveness. “Y-yeah. See?” 

“I have perfect control over my creations, Catra,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was a balanced edge of menace and calm disinterest, “if I did not...well, you do not want to know what these creatures would want from you.” The shadows receded and Catra noticed the way Shadow Weaver’s nails had bitten into the armests of her special chair. Then they vanished inside her long robes. 

“I will take the tea now,” her searching eyes locked onto Catra’s, “tell me...what did this creature do to you? Give me details.” 

Shadow Weaver interjected only to explain, slowly and with copious criticism, how Catra could go about preparing her a cup of strange, sharp-smelling tea. Catra finished her retelling around the time the kettle shrieked.

“Attacking the deep fears of so many individuals at once,” Shadow Weaver said, Catra tried to tell if the awe in her voice was preformative or genuine, “and manipulating them into fighting. Perhaps it overtaxed itself.” 

“Room for improvement,” Catra muttered under the last little squeal of steam as she moved the kettle from its small, humble burner. 

“An interesting creature,” Shadow Weaver said, voice hushed, “what did you call it? ‘Dark Dream’?” 

_ Ooo. Nice touch, old lady.  _ Catra briefly feared Shadow Weaver might read her thoughts but reassured herself that some places were beyond even the witch...as far as she knew. If they weren’t, she’d likely have expired long ago.

Catra ogled the rich blue drawings on the porcelain cup as she poured the steaming liquid into it. She fought the urge to sneeze at the overpowering smell. Adora went  _ on and on _ about this stuff in the past.

_ Big deal. Just boiled plant-water.  _ She hated the way the cup rattled on its saucer, it sounded so fragile, as she passed it along to Shadow Weaver. The sorceress placed a hand on her mask. Catra’s ears flattened and she backed away. She remembered, vaguely, what lay underneath. Shadow Weaver’s eyes vanished as the red mask slipped upwards.

“Do give me some privacy,” Shadow Weaver said with a sinister smile in her voice. Catra turned her back quicker than she’d liked to admit. 

“Adequately prepared,” Shadow Weaver said after a sip of tea. Catra tried not to imagine the face underneath moving. Tried not to shiver at the sound of her voice fully audible without the mask in the way. “Well?”

“Uh…um. Wh-what?” She bared her teeth at the little tsk of annoyance that response got her. 

“On with it. The warrior. The one with the sword. How did he overcome this creature?”

“I…Adam…the big guy…” Catra gave in and turned away, “he used up his energy, killing the Dark Dream thingy. He shot lightning at it.” 

“Was it destroyed?” Shadow Weaver asked. Again Catra wrestled with the idea of just how much Shadow Weaver knew. 

“It ran away.” Shadow Weaver’s voice was tinged with anger when she spoke next.

“What a cowardly little creature,” she said, “I wonder if it’s master punished it for such a pathetic display?” There was a long pause. “Oh, but I mustn't forget, it was *I* that conjured it, Arch-Mage Catra. I’ll be sure to see to it then. Maybe I’ll start concocting a potion for it. With bat wings and toads’ legs...”

“Alright, already. I get it.” She knew. She had to know what it was. Catra offered no more prodding or poking, much as she wished to, but she had enough suspicion to plant the monster at Shadow Weaver’s beck and call. Now if she had proof. If she had proof and brought it to Lord Hordak, that might be something. 

_ See how smug you are then. Wonder if they’ve got good plants for tea on Beast Island?  _ She realized Shadow Weaver had gone on talking while she was ruminating. No harm done. Shadow Weaver did so enjoy hearing herself talk. 

“This…warrior…is an  _ energy leech _ , syphoning power into himself before releasing it on his foes...” Shadow Weaver declared, “fascinating.” The conversation was moving away from Dark Dream. Time for something new. 

“Adora can’t do that,” Catra said, “least I haven’t seen her do it.” Shadow Weaver’s fingers bit at the side of her stomach through her vest as she wrenched her around. For an instant Catra felt nauseous at the idea of seeing Shadow Weaver’s face again but she was relieved to find the mask shoved back into place and the white ghost-eyes of her caretaker flaring at her from the eye-slit. 

“You will  _ stop  _ using her name, you fool, when you discuss She-Ra. Even here. Even with me. There are ears  _ everywhere. _ Even with my magic, we can  _ never  _ trust that we’re totally alone. Adora is Adora. She-Ra is She-Ra.”

“I get it.” Catra growled. Shadow Weaver’s fingers tightened against her side. Then, Catra realized with a start, they began to tremble with the effort. There was a soft drip of tea falling to the floor as the cup in Shadow Weaver’s right hand shook. Catra, in a moment of blind defiance, plucked the sorceress’ hand off of her. It came away from her vest like a dead leaf.

“You do not.” Shadow Weaver said, steadying her cup, “Can you begin to guess what becomes of you and I when  _ certain realities _ are made apparent? If this is not done carefully, Catra, Adora will return here to face nothing but summary punishment.” She shooed Catra to turn around once more and then took a fortifying drink of tea. “And since I know that doesn’t move you, let me make clear that anything that befalls her  _ will befall you. _ And anything that I face as a result? Well. Best not even to think of that, for your sake.”

“Why bother bringing her back then?” Catra said. She pushed away thoughts of Adora like they were sharp sword-points. It wasn’t fair. She should be able to hate her but she couldn’t. She could hate her choices and her new friends and her utter lack of loyalty, but Catra still couldn’t completely hate  _ Adora.  _ Stupid, perfect, pretty Adora. “She doesn’t care about us.”

“I have worked for two decades to make Adora the model soldier,” Shadow Weaver said, “I thought perhaps her ‘friend’ would wish her to return out of sentiment at the very least. Ask for myself, I want to win this war, Catra. Adora is the key to that. Now more than ever.”

Catra disciplined herself and offered a little shrug. On anyone else it might’ve worked.

“No colorful reply?” Catra’s tail puffed up. “Nothing churlish to add? Why  _ did _ you spare the boy, Catra? What scheme are you thinking up? Come now. Turn around and tell me.” She held up a finger as Catra opened her mouth. She pressed the empty cup into her hands. “Put that back as you do so.  _ Carefully _ .”

It took a great deal of effort not to shatter the little cup against the nearest surface.

“Who needs Adora?” Catra smirked, looking more confident than she felt. “We have our own weapon against the rebel’s She-Ra now.” Shadow Weaver drummed her fingernails on the armrest of her chair. Tack-Tack-tack-tack-tack. “A She-Ra to fight a She-Ra.”

Shadow Weaver began to cough. When the fit didn’t stop, Catra approached her cautiously, then felt her face run red-hot with humiliation. She was being laughed at.

“You are a child,” the woman tittered, “with a new little action figure of your own now, hmmm? And you want to run off down the lane and make it fight someone else’s. You are  _ so simple. _ ” Her voice sharpened suddenly. “It’s almost infuriating how very stupid that idea is. The boy nearly killed you, Catra, and the first thing you think to do is give him  **back** his sword? Put him in combat with She-Ra?”

“What?” Catra snapped. “You’ve got a better idea?” She held back all the further information she had on how Adam and the big guy were separate. Shadow Weaver didn’t need to know everything. 

“That is a great understatement,” Shadow Weaver sighed, “I would thoroughly examine every aspect of the boy’s magical nature. I would seek to understand his connection to the sword, and She-Ra herself. I would, at the very least, determine if he is or is not capable of more or less than our opponent. But not you. No.” Shadow Weaver shook her head slowly, as if utterly defeated. “This is a truly disappointing moment for you, dear.”

A treacherous thought tugged at her heart. If Adam and the warrior weren’t one in the same then maybe Adora and She-Ra weren’t the same either. Adora was such a gullible idiot and all that power must be so tempting...she squashed the idea before it could take root in her mind. WIshful thinking, that’s all it was.

“Adora isn’t coming back,” Catra said. She was poking the witch now and she knew it. She didn’t care.

“You would do well to stop saying such foolish things in front of me,” Shadow Weaver’s eyes flashed and she leaned forward. Catra smiled. She was scared now, but scared was better than embarrassed. Yelled at was far better than being laughed at.

_ Ugh _ .  _ My life really sucks. _

“Why would having our own super-soldier be so stupid? Isn’t that what you’re planning for dear, dumb Adora?” Catra grinned. “Gonna use her  _ feelings  _ to convince her to come back?”

“You believe I’m not going to punish you for this,” Shadow Weaver said, suddenly far too calm, “you are wrong. You are not a little girl, Catra, I will not correct you every time you fail.” She rose from her seat. “You don’t know, do you? How I’ve shielded you from danger. You never will. You never once appreciate the things I do for your sake.”

“For my sake?!” Catra laughed because she didn’t know whether that idea was more insane, infuriating, or depressing, coming from that voice, of all people’s. “You  **hate** me!”

“And yet,” Shadow Weaver strode forward, “did I not give you the very friend you weep for constantly?”

Catra’s heart stopped for a moment.

“Did I not let you follow her around? Grow so sickeningly attached? I could’ve stopped it anytime I wished, Catra, if I so chose. You know that.” Thin fingers suddenly snatched her ear, not tugging but holding in place. “And, oh, I was sorely tempted to. So very many times. But I relented. Because I knew that, for whatever reason, Adora was fond of you.”

“I was her friend,” Catra said, anger turning her voice hot, “she was  _ my  _ friend.” She hated the feeling of having her ear held like this. She felt like she couldn’t move.

“Because I allowed it,” the woman said, releasing her, “so think on that whenever you want to put all of your failures and wrath on my shoulders. Yes. You like me as the villain of your story, hmmm? Shadow Weaver is the reason you’re miserable. Well, she is also the reason you were ever happy.”

Catra glared into her eyes, not trusting herself to speak with her voice hitching.

“Blessed silence,” Shadow Weaver hissed, “how good to have you again. Now, Force Captain, here are your orders. You will take that clothing and those boots to the child. He will wear them. You will not say a word to anyone about any idiotic plans. I have too much already on my plate to be worrying about that little creature, so you may continue obeying your  _ ‘personal orders’ _ from Lord Hordak.”

“Adam’s my prisoner,” Catra said, hating how petulantly it came out. She might as well have just said ‘mine, mine, mine’ and stomped her foot.

“He is the Horde’s prisoner, Catra,” Shadow Weaver said, standing at her full height, “and you should be very grateful that I am taking an interest in this now. Have you considered what Lord Hordak might say when he decides the boy’s fate? Harsh punishments have been handed out to enemy’s with less working against them.”

“My plan-” Catra started to say.

“Is asinine,” Shadow Weaver cut in, “and you will be held personally accountable by me if any of it so much as suggests a similar connection between Adora and She-Ra.”

“It’s always about her, isn’t it? Why do you care about her so much?”

“You’d never understand,” the witch snapped, “and I have no need to explain myself to you. I taught her to read. I taught her how to be strong. I have put far too much of myself into Adora to let her ruin her life with one impetuous act!” Shadow Weaver looked down at her with an air of disgust. “As if you could even  _ begin  _ to understand. The gall. I would do the boy a favor by sending him to a cell right now.”

Catra’s response choked off as Shadow Weaver touched her cheek, thumb rubbing over the spot she’d been slapped. Catra felt shame flood down her chest and fill her heart like liquid stone.

“There’s no shame in it, Catra,” Shadow Weaver said, voice a mockery of compassion, “sometimes…it’s just too much to bear, yes? You lose your temper and things happen. Not so easy, rearing children.”  _ She knew. When she’d found Adam, she must have seen his bruise. _ Catra’s heart turned heavier. “A little claret on the cheek. Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, hm? Maybe you can extend me a little compassion now? You were twice as difficult at that age…” 

“D-don’t touch me,” she said. The hand on her cheek slipped away. “I’m not putting him in a cell. He’s safe with me.”  _ I’m not like you. I’m not. _

The weak emotions, the ones she rejected when Adam giggled or dozed off in a little ball of blankets, all returned and made her courageous. Guilt sank its teeth into the back of her mind behind the images, but at least for a second, she could lie to herself.

“You still fail to understand this. Very well. It’s time you learned real consequences, Catra, I will not protect you any longer.” Shadow Weaver returned to her seat, settling in. “I will, as always, have to clean up your mess and keep this opportunity from slipping through my fingers because of your bungling. You will take full responsibility for how he’s been handled since his capture. You alone.”

“No problem,” Catra said, smirking, “other than  _ somebody _ freaking him out last night, he’s been a perfect little soldier. Crabby maybe. But…hey, I like his spirit.” She rubbed idly at her nose, recalling a head-butt. “He’s a fighter.”

“Very impressive coming from you,” Shadow Weaver scoffed, “a word of advice. Spare him the panic and terror. Put him in a cell now. Before he understands that you have no real power to protect him.” She studied Catra’s defiant glare. “Or don’t. Whatever happens next, you’ve brought it on yourself.”

“Haven’t heard that one before,” Catra said, “I’ll make my case to Lord Hordak. How I want. You can’t stop me.” Shadow Weaver laughed once more.

“Oh, get out of my sight, you little brat,” she said passively with a wave of her hand, “and don’t forget the clothing.”

“Whatever,” Catra said, “I’m not sending him to a cell. You’re not getting him. I can take care of him.”

_ You tried.  _ Catra dared only to think the words.  _ With Adora. You failed. I won’t. Adam will fight for me. Adam will be loyal. And I won’t be like you. Ever. _

__ __ “Is that so?” Shadow Weaver sounded bored. “I would remind you that I’m your commanding officer…but that’s not going to change anything. No. Let’s try a different tact.” Shadow Weaver sat up and crossed her legs casually, her hands folded atop one knee. “Is he safe?”

“What?”

“The boy. Right this minute. Is he safe? Can you guarantee that? He’s made a lot of enemies.” Catra’s mind flashed through the line of officers assembled in Horde Square. They went red with the light of the anti-oxygen machine that nearly killed them both. They looked down at her own claws, the ones she’d sunk deep into the warrior’s flesh before she’d understood that a child was living inside him.

“Is,” Shadow Weaver said, glee in her tone, “the boy safe? Do you enjoy this little experiment in parenting, Catra? I’m sure you’ve taken to it wonderfully.” Her eyes crinkled with a hidden smile. 

“It will be tomorrow, you know.” Catra made a face. “Lord Hordak. It has been forty-eight hours since he entered seclusion. He will emerge tomorrow.” 

“He...he told you?” Catra snarled at the dark little chuckle that answered her. 

“You think you can play this game,” Shadow Weaver said, “it’s precious. Like a little girl playing dress-up. No, Lord Hordak has told me nothing. But I can be all but certain because I, unlike you, use my wits to further my own goals, not my barely-restrained pride.” She gestured with one hand towards the Black Garnet. “Do you think I have become what I am through asking politely for a chance to prove myself? Let me demonstrate your ineptitude. Lord Hordak would never let anyone accuse him of being weak, even in secret, so he must return to public view. He will do so no more than two-days after reclusion. I have never known him to do so longer. He will decide the boy’s fate immediately, to quell any questions or concerns among the officers. That child...does not have long.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Oh, don’t look so frightened, dear.” Shadow Weaver tilted her head playfully. “I won’t let any harm come to our dear little Adam. I have too many uses for him to let that happen. But if  _ you  _ have anything you’d like to say to him, I’d do so quickly. Tomorrow is not far off. And you should not expect him to be in your constant reach once Hordak has entrusted him to my custody. I don’t make the same mistake twice, my dear. He won’t be allowed such distractions.” 

Catra refused to run but her motion toward the door was obviously rushed.

“Catra!”

“What?!” Shadow Weaver pointed wordlessly at the clothing and boots she was about to leave behind. Catra snatched up the box by its plastic handle and nearly sank her exposed claws into the boots. She left without a word or a glance in Shadow Weaver’s direction.

_ Don’t run!  _ She yelled in her head.

_ …at least not until Shadow Weaver won’t be able to hear you running. _

__ As she strode through the hallways to her room, her mind made promise after promise and each one felt ever more empty. Tomorrow. It would all happen tomorrow. 

_ He’s safe. He has to be safe. Nobody has the guts to cross me. Octavia, Grizlor, they don’t have the rank to make anyone open my door. You idiot. How could you just leave him by himself?! _

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she saw a stranger waiting by her door. He was wide. Taller than her by a few inches but so thick-set with muscles that he seemed even larger. Covered in beige fur with a stony face framed by tall, bat-like ears. He was enormous. Dangerous. A Troll. One of the mountain-dwelling folk from the west.

They’d been conquered long before her time and the stories of their war were still told to wayward Cadets as warnings. She let the box and boots drop from her hands to free them for combat. Someone had sent someone to get him already. 

“What,” she growled, “do you want?”

The man’s brown-black eyes regarded her from behind clip-reading glasses on a loop around his neck. Catra realized belatedly that he’d been reading from a stainless steel clipboard inscribed with the Horde Medic’s symbol; a red cross with bat-wings. He was in red-and-black scrubs that had to sacrifice sleeves for his huge arms. He placed a pen behind one pointed ear.

“I was asked to arrive here first thing,” his voice was low but not as deep or lunkish as she’d expected, he sounded very tired, “Force Captain’s orders.”

“Somebody’s messing with you,” Catra sheathed her claws surreptitiously, “I didn’t order a… Oh, Shadow Weaver sent you? Doctor…?” 

Grox,” he gave a perfunctory salute, “Surgeon Grox. Fright-Zone Medical Legion. And no, Force Captain Scorpia gave me these orders.”

“Oh,” Catra ground her teeth, “ _ did  _ she? I’m fine, thanks. So buzz off.” She knew she was being rude. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to do anything but go back to sleep. And she couldn’t even do that. She needed to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game. She needed time to think.

“For you?” Grox frowned, the white tusks in his mouth shifting. “I served as a pediatric assistant for the War Orphans In-Take and Processing. That’s why someone asked me to come here. Apparently we owe your friend a favor for her help.”

“Point One,” Catra said, “Scorpia is not my friend. Point Two I don’t care. Point Three why would I need a pediatric…” she trailed off. “Wait. Actually…”

The surgeon arched a furry eyebrow.

“The kid,” Catra said, “yeah. Take a look at him.” Better to learn if Adam had any outstanding problems now. Doubtlessly, Shadow Weaver had used some kind of magic to figure that out already, or planned to at some point. Catra needed to even the playing field before she tipped it her way.

_And…I guess if there’s anything hurting him, it’d be better to take care of it now. That stomach of his might need extra attention._ She picked up the box and the boots then opened the door to her room.

“Catr-aaah!” Zip. A flash of yellow hair slid under her bed. Catra crouched down and found uncertain blue-eyes looking back at her. “Um?”

“Come on out,” she said, crooking a finger, “time for a check-up, booger.” She frowned as he crawled out with slow, startled movements. “There’s some  _ really _ scary stuff ahead, Adam, so you better toughen up.” 

Grox had flipped his clipboard open, donned his glasses, and retrieved his pen inside a second. He glanced up at Adam, scribbling something down rapidly.

“Ca-tra?” Adam whispered.

“It’s ok,” Catra said, “he’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Indeed I am not,” Grox said, then added almost to himself, “A-D-A-M. The names we end up with. Phonetic spelling, no other choice.” He looked at the child in question. “Gender… hmmm… ‘Assigned Male.’ If that label needs changing at all, come down to the Infirmary and we can adjust the records.” He scribbled a note. Then he tapped one of his ears meaningfully. “And what do these look like, Adam?”

The boy, a look of curiosity on his face, rubbed at his ears through his thick hair. The doctor stole a look at them as the hair was pushed away, then his pen raced across the clipboard.

“Human. Might’ve guessed it. Now how old are you, kiddo?”

Adam blinked and cocked his head.

“Adam doesn’t…that’s not gonna get you anything, doc. He’s like, I dunno, ten-years-old I guess?” The troll did not remark on the boy’s lack of speech but Catra noticed a subtle change in his manners. Slower. Gentler. 

“Not a talker yet. I see.” He was all business the next instant. “A little small for ten-years-old,” Grox said, tapping his pen on the clipboard, “we’ll put it down about ten-years-old. See how he grows once we get him on a good diet. Better idea then.” 

_ A good diet. Getting way ahead of yourself, doc. _

__ __ “His stomach is really small,” Catra said. The doctor nodded, returning his clipboard to the bag slung over his right shoulder. Then, oddly, he squatted low to the ground and pressed the backs of his hands against the floor.

“Alright, son,” he said, “let’s get that weight. Step on up.” Catra blinked at him and her surprise must’ve been obvious. “Trolls can tell weight to within milligram of accuracy. It’s how we…” the doctor flinched “…how the  _ old t _ roll kingdom in Spikeheart was built inside the mountains.”

“Adam,” Catra said, “go…stand on that guy’s hands.” The boy needed some coaching, and a little coaxing, but after a moment Catra saw an overwhelming curiosity chase the fear from his eyes. He glanced at her no fewer than three times as he did as he was bid. It made her smile to see him taking courage from her presence there.

_ ‘Put him in a cell now. Spare him the terror and confusion.’  _ She forced the words out of her head and focused on the doctor. His calm demeanor vanished as the boy’s bare soles pressed down on his palms.

“This boy is very underweight,” he said, “has anyone been feeding him?” Catra explained about the ration-bar she’d given him and was a little uncertain at the look of surprise on the doctor’s face. “That’s…not a bad idea, Force Captain, but we’ve got special supplement bars for situations like this.”

“Situations like this?” Catra asked. She’d never seen a child as thin as Adam in her time.

“You were raised here in the Fright Zone,” Grox said, a statement not a question, “it can be tough for older children when they’re…taken in. An adjustment.” Catra’s squad was made of Horde Cadets who’d been in the system since before they could walk. She looked Adam over again. A thousand new obstacles began to rise up between her and the big plan she’d been making.

Maybe Shadow Weaver was right. Maybe she was in way over her head.

“You should keep doing like you have,” Grox said, interrupting her thought process, “slow meals. The supplement bars are smaller portions but they’re loaded with calories and a few vitamins this one might have missed out on. Maybe ten days of good nutrition and we’ll have this one up to the right weight.” He frowned. “Psychologically, he needs to understand that the food isn’t going away.”

_ Ten days.  _ Catra’s heart shrunk.  _ You’re talking the kind of time we don’t have, doc. Though… Ten days isn’t that long. Could I make a case for that? Maybe...  _

“Yeah,” Catra said, tail flicking, “he better. Look, doc, we done here?” She had thinking to do, and little enough time to do it. 

“If it’s alright, I’d like to give him a full physical,” Grox said, “It may be too soon for it, it might be frightening for him if he doesn’t understand, and the last thing he needs is a stranger poking or prodding him-oh!” A curious hand had pressed against the doctor’s glasses.

“Adam,” Catra said with a little flicker of warning, “hey. ‘Bubble’.” She made a gesture and Adam drew his hands back sheepishly.

“No,” he mumbled apologetically. The doctor smiled, took off his glasses, breathed on them, and wiped them clean on his scrubs.

“Well. He’s not as scared as I’m used to them being,” Grox said, voice soft as he looked the curious child over, “what’s this…he’s got a bruise on his cheek.” His voice turned hard again.

“He fell off the bed,” Catra said rapidly, “he was messing around and he fell.”

Grox’s eyes didn’t move from the red spot on the boy’s face.

“Right,” he said, voice emotionless once more, “been so long since I did processing, I forgot. Kids are always messing around. Always getting themselves bruises.”

_ ‘Maybe you’ll extend me some compassion.’ _

__ Shadow Weaver’s words stopped her reflexive snarl. She felt her face growing red-hot with humiliation. The doctor said nothing more about it, and Adam smiled at him, blissfully unaware. She glared at the man’s broad back and busied herself scheming for the next day. She could handle this. 

  
  
  
  


“Maurice,” Serket said, “a cup of baking soda, please and thank you.” The bodyguard bowed and departed the royal laundry room of the old gatehouse fortress. Scorpia let him step by before entering, her new green-and-orange kitty purring in her broad arms.

“But why not use our perfectly good royal washing machine?” She came around her mother’s side and considered the clothing on the table. It seemed so very small without anyone wearing it.

“Its basic, cured animal hide, Force Captain Little Venom,” Serket said, “there’s no washing it. But we can at least get rid of the odor. A soak in some cold water with baking soda should have it spring fresh by tonight. Dry by morning, and back on the little boy by breakfast.” Scorpia glanced suspiciously at the tunic.

“Ma, you know I love you, but the last time you told me ‘this will get rid of the smell, I was walking around stinking like masala for an entire day.” The ex-Commander wagged a pincer.

“Skunks. Onions. I got them mixed up, alright? Court-martial me for it, but clothing is much easier. This’ll work fine.” There was a sudden chirp from the little creature in Scorpia’s arms. The green tiger-kitty squirmed free and threw himself down onto the spread out tunic. The nose pressed deep into the inner hide lining, producing an odd crinkly noise. Scorpia’s pet looked up, casting sad, amber eyes around the room and yowled once. “Oh! Scorpia, his claws!”

“Kitty!” Scorpia squawked, she pulled the poor thing away, Serket leaping in to hold the tunic down. They both gasped as the rending noise that cut the air, drowned out by the kitty’s caterwauling. He sounded like he was in pain. “Kitty, no!”

Maurice returned and found himself suddenly burdened with the little animal, which he took with normal stoicism. He turned about and marched off, the sad cries of the tiger cub fading off down the hall.

“What was that about?” Scorpia asked. Serket hummed thoughtfully. “Did the smell trigger something in him. It was like-” Scorpia turned and found her mother ripping away the rest of the inner lining. 

“Ma!” Serket winced at the volume. Scorpia whispered. “What are you doing?”

“There’s…papers in here,” Serket said, “help me unstring this. Wads and wads of papers. A lining of some kind.” The paper, browned slightly with age, lay spread out around the tunic like the stuffing of a ruined teddy bear.

“Scorpia… This isn’t just paper, there’s… some kind of writing on it? Oh my, look at these!” 

Scorpia began helping her mother rip out the inner lining. Dozens of small, yellowing balls of note-paper rolled around the steel table, mother and daughter rushing to keep them from tumbling off. Numerous rectangles of folded blue mylar paper. Scorpia unfolded one and gasped at the drawings on it.

“This is…this is…” she stammered, “ _ impossible  _ to read! What language is this?” The hieroglyphics confounded her. At the center, standing with arms at either side, was an oddly shaped figure. A slim body designed with symmetrical grace and topped with a head like an old-fashioned helmet. Gears took the place of heart and organs in the perfect triangle of a chassis. Skinny arms and legs with joints made of circular rotators. Hands with spidery, segmented fingers. Next to it, a long scrawl of doodles.

“Wait!” She cried out in triumph. “These are…horsey pieces…from…that one boardgame…”

“Chess? That’s a knight piece, dear,” Serket sighed.

“Right, that thing I never got the point of, but look here,” her voice was soft with emotion, “isn’t that cute?” The chess-pieces neck was mounted by two identical little people.  _ No, not little people. Kids!  _ Scorpia’s heart melted. They were identical save for hair-length. One’s hair was fashioned in a sort of bowl cut and the other’s was much longer. They beamed at her, mouths open and exclaiming something in a word bubble.

“What language is this?” Scorpia asked again.

“I don’t know, dear,” Serket said, “my training didn’t involve hieroglyphics.” She frowned. “It’s a shame your grandfather isn’t still with us. He was the last one of us to get a traditional education in these things.” Scorpia nodded absentmindedly, claw touching the little drawing of the children with feather-light pressure. There were more, all over the margins.

“Do you think these are from Adam’s family,” she said, “do you think, maybe, they meant for someone to find these? These drawings. Maybe that’s him and the other one…” Scorpia trailed off. The idea suddenly entered her head that Adam, whoever he was and wherever he came from, might have a family. A real family. Parents. Siblings. Friends.

“Perhaps, dear,” Serket said, looking over the notes, “who can say? Either way, you may want to be careful with these. By the looks of them, they’re quite old. Amazing they survived in this lining the way they did.” Scorpia looked the blueprints over. Catra needed to see these. Right away. She folded up the one in her claws, a dexterous effort that took several minutes, sticking it into her back-pocket for safe keeping. 

“Ma, thanks so much for your help, but I gotta go. I’ll come by and get Adam’s tunic tomorrow. These need to get to Catra fast. She’ll want to see them…” she trailed off, derailed by the brief touch of emotion on her mother’s face. There was no hardness or sorrow staring back at her, but there was a twinge of disappointment, rapidly replaced by quiet acceptance. Like she’d been prepared to hear this from the start.

“I understand, little...Force Captain Little Venom. Don’t worry about it, just be sure to let me know when you’re on your way here tomorrow. Whenever you have time. And do give Catra my regards.” She smiled at Scorpia and the Force Captain’s face went hot with shame. She’d gotten her mother used to this kind of treatment. 

There had been such a whirlwind of activity the last few days that she’d never stopped to consider how ex-Commander Serket might feel. Her mind went to the little drawings again and she felt very foolish. She’d been so concerned about being there for Catra she’d forgotten she was all her mother had as well. She suddenly forced a laugh that made her mom jump in surprise.

“No, actually. Our plan was to meet, uh,  _ tomorrow _ . Doy. Steel-trap! Heh.” She grinned. “Catra’s probably busy right now, I bet, and I’d make her mad being early...not that she gets mad at me...I can stay here tonight!” Scorpia said, trying not to blush at how happy her mom looked at that, “besides, I should help out with the fixes where I can.”

It would be fine. She could explain everything more easily in person tomorrow. Catra would understand, and she’d enjoy being there when Adam got his tunic back. The poor thing was being so brave. 

“You mentioned masala,” Serket was saying, unable to stop smiling, “that might be good for dinner, yes?” Scorpia smiled, her doubts casted away for the time being. 

One day couldn’t make that much difference. 

  
  
  


“Alright,” the nice, strange man with the odd contraption on his face said, “I think that about wraps it up.” Adam tugged at the hem of his shirt, poking his tongue out in discomfort. The man laughed softly. “Yeah. The clothes were an adjustment for me too, kiddo. You did great, Cadet, better than most kids I’ve had to help Process.”

Adam smiled, not understanding the words entirely. The Other One’s voice rumbled into his head.

**He…says…’thank you’…**

Adam grinned, chest puffing up in pride. The Other One had calmed him into letting the strange man look him over. It had been odd. Catra had slumped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling since he started, deep in thought. 

The man had shone a light into Adam’s eyes, mouth, and then his ears of all things. He’d made him stick out his tongue and go ‘aaah’, Adam had liked the game they were playing, before giving him a glass tube to hold under his tongue. Adam liked that less but it was only for a minute.

Not as much as he hadn’t liked the metal circle thing connected to some doo-dads in the big man’s bat-like ears. It had been freezing! Adam had flat refused at first and prepared for a fight. The man had simply sat back on his haunches and nodded. They spent several minutes looking each other over before he finally pointed himself and said ‘Grox’.

“Grrrrrrrr-oks?” Adam had asked. The man nodded. Uncertain what was happening, Adam raised a hand, waving. “Hi?”

“Hello, Adam,” he had said back then pointed at himself once more “Grox.” He tried again with the metal circle and Adam figured, since he’d been nice, he could give it another try. It was still cold. He still didn’t like it. Catra had glanced up from her spot on her bed and given Adam a stern look so he’d gone along with it. 

The man was doing something on his weird metal rectangle again. Adam stood on his tip-toes stealthily and nearly stumbled when the man, noticing him, turned the thing around. There was a white paper on it. Covered in weird drawings.

**Words.** Ooooooh. Words. Adam frowned and thought at the Other One.  **I cannot…read them…either.**

The man held out the little drawing-stick he’d been using and Adam took it with slow wonder. He amused himself for about a minute with the noise a little button on the end made, jumping when a point poked him and left behind a blue mark like the words on the paper. Adam grinned and looped a blue line across his forearm. He repeated it on the paper.

He looked hopefully up at the man. He was staring at him with intense curiosity and Adam thought briefly he was in trouble again. The man seemed nice…but so had the lady of shadows.

A large hand took the drawing-stick back slowly.

“Pen,” he said, shaking it meaningfully, “this is a ‘pen’.” Pen. Adam nodded. Pen.

“P-pen,” he said back. Adam looked the man over and pointed at him. “Grox?”

The man smiled. Adam flushed. Oooooh. His name was Grox. Boy, did Adam feel stupid.

“Hi, Grox,” Adam said.

“Hi, Adam,” Grox said. He reached a cautious finger out and touched the boy’s bruised cheek. “Hurt?” He made a face of pain to help illustrate. Adam shook his head ‘no’ to show it didn’t. 

“There a problem, doc?” Adam jumped at Catra’s voice. She sounded angry and she was starting to glare at Grox. His demeanor had changed. Adam watched his shoulders square up and his eyes narrow a little behind his glass-things. “I told you about that already.”

“I know,” the man rumbled, “maybe make sure he stays off the bed this time.” Catra sat up without a word and hopped to her feet, towering over the crouching man. “I’m not an idiot, Force Captain. I know there’s not a thing I can do about any of this. A pediatrician in the Horde tends to know what a slap mark looks like. Why you’d lie about it is beyond me.”

“Get out, you’re done,” Catra growled. Adam backed away from Grox.

“You don’t know what its like for kids from outside the Fright Zone,” Grox said, rising to his feet but keeping his voice calm, “its even harder for them when they adjust-“

“I just gave you an order.”

“-so if I can play on whatever sympathy you’ve got, let me ask that you be patient with him. I don’t know why you’re looking after him and I don’t get the option of asking questions about it.”

“Doc,” Catra snapped her teeth, “I’m starting to get annoyed. I don’t stay annoyed long before I get mad.”

“If you can’t handle this,” Grox said, drawing himself up, “find somebody who can.” Catra’s hands wrapped into the red scrubs he was wearing and her claws ripped at them.

“What do you know?” She roared. “What do you know about any of this?”

“I know kids taken in war have to look out for each other,” Grox said, stone-faced, “because nobody else will. I can’t stop you, Force Captain. You have all the power here.”

Adam raced over and hid behind Catra’s leg, leaning out to hiss at the big man. The two grown-ups glanced down at him and Catra felt the heavy shame from earlier sink back into her. The kid trusted her so readily. 

“You’re dismissed,” she said, keeping her voice even, “send those supplement-whatever-bars up here right away.” Grox gave another salute on reflex and gathered his equipment up. 

“Bye, Adam,” he said. Adam’s brain sparked once as something else became clear.

“Hi?” he said, waving his hand. No, that wasn’t right. “Bye!”

“Yeah,” Catra grumbled, “‘bye’. Scram. Get lost.” Grox left with a swish of the automatic door. “Idiot. What does he know? Who does he think he is!? Who’s he to… I should write him up. See how he likes it.” Adam backed away as Catra began pacing and muttering angrily. He frowned. Had he done something wrong?

“Ca-tra?” Her head whipped his way, eyes dangerous slits of blue and gold.

“What?!” Adam gulped and backed away. Catra changed all at once. Her face went blank then twisted back but she wasn’t looking at him anymore, she wasn’t looking at anything. She heaved a big sigh that became a long, drawn out groan. “Come here, booger.”

Adam approached with the speed of a glacier. Catra crouched down until she was eye level with him. She raised her hand slowly and cupped his bruised cheek. Her face was working through a dozen emotions and her hand started to slip away after a few seconds. Bitter defeat creased her forehead under her red mask.

Adam raised his arm to show off his little scribbling. Catra looked at it, looked at his face, and her mouth started to dance a confused quirk and a grin. He cocked his head and she sputtered a laugh. Adam beamed.

“Goof,” she said, “is your cheek, ok?” She made a face. Adam made a tiny scoff as he pulled away and took a proud stance. He was getting a bit tired of everyone asking this question. He thumped himself in the chest and flexed his arms with a nod. “Yeah. Who could forget how tough you are?” Catra’s smile turned downwards a second later. “Listen to me Adam. I…I won’t do that again, ok? I’m sure you can’t even begin to…I won’t hit you. I don’t hit kids. I’m not like that.”

Adam nodded slowly. 

“You get me? Hitting. No more. Not from me, or you.” She pantomimed a fake slap to her own face, then shook her head.

“No.” Adam said quietly.  _ Good, he gets that at least. I think _ . Catra kept her hand over the mark on Adam’s cheek as she continued.

“Listen, Adam. You and I are out of time. Right now, you’re in danger. A  **lot** of danger. There’s no more hiding or planning we can do, we have to just go with what we’ve got.” Adam began to smile and giggle as Catra leaned in close to say the words, and she snickered against her will. “See? Goofball. You don’t know how deep in it you are. But I do. And I’m trying to help. So whatever happens tomorrow, you need to listen to me, do whatever I tell you. That’s the deal.”

“Deal,” Adam repeated. He put his hand on top of hers. “Deal?” Catra hesitated and then nodded. Adam smooshed his face against her palm.

“Deal!” he squeaked with joy. Catra sighed. This was, almost certainly,  **not** going to work.

“We gotta get up early  _ again  _ tomorrow,” Catra whined, “big day ahead. But we’ll have the morning at least. Better try to make the most of it… somehow.” She remembered something, then took her hand back and mimed a hood. Adam straightened up in hope. “Tunic. Tomorrow. Yea, sorry, you gotta wait one more day. You can’t wear it at Hordak’s trial, bad idea. But I’ll try to get it back to you before...” Catra shuddered at the thought of every eventuality waiting on the horizon. Shadow Weaver’s warning echoed again in her ear. “Before...everything goes down. Deal?”

“Deal!” Adam said back. ‘Deal’. He had no idea what it meant…but if that meant Catra was happy and she’d rub his face and smile at him some more, then he could say it.

**Beware.** Adam almost yelled as the Other One broke in.  **She is not to be trusted.**

Adam frowned. The Other One couldn’t mean that. Catra was nice. A treasonous side of his mind reminded him that the Dark Lady had seemed kind as well, and the man with the contraptions, at least for a brief moment.

Adam was staring off into the distance, face working through a few thoughts. “Hellooooooo,” Catra she rubbed her knuckles in Adam’s hair gently, “anybody home in there?” Adam smiled, a little less certainly. “Thinking pretty hard, huh? Don’t worry, kid. I’ll be the brains of operation. This is all gonna work out, kid... Alright? Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.” 

Again, Adam nodded because, he hoped, that’s what she wanted him to do. 


	11. The Doom of Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Hordak has returned to public view, and the trial to decide Adam’s fate is at hand. Catra and Shadow Weaver each have their own plans to keep him out of harm's way, but Hordak is not easily fooled, and he begins to see in the boy a different kind of opportunity.

* * *

Editor's Note: Hello everyone. 

  
  
I probably don't need to tell many of you that its been a rough summer stacked on top of a rough year.  


It's doubtlessly going to stay tough out there for a while, and I'm sure none of you want to think about that, but I want to stop and say I hope everyone keeping up with 'The Power of Greyskull' is doing well. 

All of you who've left us your reviews, kudos, and bookmarks have really made things brighter for both me and Homer these last few months, even on the darkest days. Thank you for that. None of you needed to do that, which is why we both appreciate all of you so much.  


If you've at any point read this story while feeling beat down or afraid, and it's succeeded at helping you feel better again, then just know that it will always be here whenever you need it. And we're so glad it gave you that peace.

Stay safe out there, everyone. 

* * *

“Adam,” Catra teased the boy’s bangs with a claw, “A-dam.” Her raspy laughter filled him with joy and made him laugh right back.

“Ca-tra,” Adam said. The sun had baked the courtyard like an old oven, so Adam and his protector had scurried up into the east-watchtower, where the wind came in strongest off the badlands, to relax in the shade. They feasted on the grayish rectangles of food Catra always found and drank their fill of never-ending cups of water.

Adam sat cross-legged across from her and had occupied himself looking over the person who’d entered into his life and made everything better. Tan fur and muscles and pretty, mismatched eyes. Looking at him with mischief. It was perfect. The perfect day of his life.

“Help me!” Adam’s blood turned to red ice in his veins. “Help me!” The coughing, metallic voice reached up from the black moat. Laughter billowed up afterwards. “Come down here and help me!”

No. Nonono. The skull was gone. Far away. Adam hopped to his feet, peered over the railing into the abyssal darkness and screeched in horror. The moat was filled with skulls. A chattering white serpent of skulls broken up by the strips of purple cloak fastened to a bit of neck-column under the grinning jaws.

“Help me,” they spoke as one, their metal voice filling the world with glee, “nyeh-heh-HA! You did this to me!”

Around the gray castle the dead army rose, armor black with age and rust, they screamed and clutched at their heads. Whisps of darkness rose from them and coalesced into a sky dark with thunder-heads in all directions. Red lightning flashed and formed giant eyes overhead.

_ Time to come home!  _ The whispering voice mocked him as the black smoke spread outwards like arms, gesturing to the hellish scene like it was gift from his worst enemy.

“Enough!” The skull, the one at the top of his column of bones, spoke as the rest of the scene fell into eerie silence. “Come down here and help me!”

“N-no!” Adam backed away, hands grasping for his sword. It was gone. He couldn’t protect himself.

**Wake…up…you are in danger!**

“Adam?” Catra’s hands grasped his shoulders as he backed into the solid weight of her body. He whirled, buried his face in her stomach, cheek rubbing against the hard material of her vest. 

“Catra,” he hiccupped, “Catra!” His screams were whispery things that made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Now,” the skull laughed, “bring him down here and help me!” Cruel fingers grasped his shirt and dragged him into the air.

**WAKE UP!**

“No!” Adam struggled. “Ca-tra!” He couldn’t scream. Why couldn’t he scream?

“Wakey-wakey,” Catra’s face had turned into a cruel smile, her voice had turned deep and malicious, “little monster.”

Adam squirmed out of his nightmare, bare feet kicking in the air and the neck of his stretchy white shirt digging under his chin. A huge, blue-skinned face sneered at him with teeth like white pillars under beady, red dots of eyes. Adam gasped in terror and then took stock of his situation.

“Ca-tra!”

The big man laughed. Adam swung himself backwards by the grip on his shirt and kicked the soles of his feet into the man’s eyes. He tumbled out of his shirt and bounced onto his cot as the big man howled with rage.

  
  


* * *

Scorpia had egg on her face. This was not to say she had been proven wrong or looked humiliated. She simply had egg yolk slowly crusting beneath the left ridge of her cheek. She wasn’t embarrassed or feeling foolish.

She was, however, feeling so terrified that, had it not already been the case, her hair would’ve turned bone-white. Her breakfast with her mom, a little pleasant allowance she’d justified to herself, had been interrupted by the message that Lord Hordak had left seclusion and demanded a certain prisoner be brought to him at once.

With a hurried ‘love you, kitty’ to her mother and a ‘thanks for breakfast, ma’ to the tiger-cub, Scorpia had raced to the laundry room. There she hastily threw the blueprints, yellowed papers, and a single black sock into Adam’s dry, baking-powder scented tunic. She managed a breathless ‘see ya later’ to each of the personal guards as she passed out of the old gatehouse to run to Catra’s quarters.

Naturally, she hadn’t made the whole way at top speed and now as she rounded the last corner her breathing was more than a little labored. A muffled howl of agony rang beyond Catra’s door and Scorpia felt her awareness of it slip away. Her tail curled up expectantly and her claws nearly bit into the tunic as she squatted to press her badge against the door lock.

The door whooshed as it opened and a blur of movement skidded to a halt in front of her. He looked even tinier without his shirt. Poor skinny little guy. Adam parted his curtain of blonde hair and stared uncertainly at Scorpia, big blue eyes hitting her right in the heart with their fear, and then he made a decision.

“Mmm!” He dipped between her legs and wrapped his arms around her right kneecap, peeking out at the chaos in Catra’s room. A big man, Warden Trapjaw she realized, was clutching at his eyes with hands the size of five-fingered oven mitts. Two Horde troopers, bearing the Warden’s winged-key insignia, crowded and babbled at him.

A huge blue fist caught one in the face and sent him sprawling into the cot Scorpia had set up for Adam. The frame clattered with ear-aching volume as it and the prison trooper went to the floor. The other trooper leapt backwards to safety as Trapjaw snarled.

“Where is that…little punk!” His red eyes were tearing up in pain and two raccoon-mask bruises were already starting to form around them. He glared at the child, ignoring Scorpia. He strode forward, footsteps booming like dynamite charges going off. “Gonna make you regret that.”

“What’s the idea?” Scorpia yelled, adjusting her stance, “this is Force Captain Catra’s room!”

“Orders,” Trapjaw snarled, “now get out of my way.” Scorpia puffed up.

“Well, that’s a rude way to say that,” she said, “and I don’t think Adam is going anywhere with you.” Trapjaw bared his teeth and Scorpia’s stinger rose up over her shoulder. “Actually, scratch that. I  _ know  _ he isn’t going anywhere with you. Now if you don’t mind, please give him back his shirt and apologize for scaring him!”

“Force Captain. Warden.” A dark voice said from behind them. “ **Stand down.”** Several things happened at once. Adam yipped like a frightened puppy and ran to Catra’s bed, sliding under it on his bare belly. She felt a grip like phantom fingers dig into the back of her neck.

All thoughts of fighting were exorcised from her mind at once, leaving a strange emotional absence in their place. It was a hollow feeling that quickly buoyed her mind up to a spot just below the ceiling. She felt her legs buckling and saw Trapjaw stumbling in time with her. They caught themselves on the edges of the door.

Her mind played a trick on her. For a flicker of an instant, there appeared to be a singly black tentacle wound tightly around Trapjaw’s thick neck. Then it was gone, forgotten, and Scorpia cowered into the doorsill as Shadow Weaver swept into the room between them.

“There has been a miscommunication,” she said by way of greeting, “Warden Kronis, I did not ask you to retrieve the child, did I?”

“My…my boys took…‘escorted’ Catra... from the Officer’s Mess Hall. She’s with Lord Hordak now.” Scorpia bit down the urge to interrupt as Trapjaw glared at the bed. “Just give me two seconds, and I’ll have that kid wishing he’d come quietly.”

“That won’t be necessary, he will be my responsibility,” Shadow Weaver said, “Now off you go. I have no need of your assistance.”

“He’s a prisoner,” Trapjaw snapped, red-eyes flashing with pure rage, “and that means he’s  _ my _ priority.” There was a crackle in the air before a prison of red-lightning paralyzed the huge man in place. Scorpia ducked back into the hallway, lips caught between her teeth to keep from whimpering.

Magic. Black Garnet magic. And that weird sensation earlier. That was magic as well. Scorpia shuddered, her tail coiling nervously in on itself. She’d be forever grateful she wasn’t expected to be a Princess. To wield power like that. She’d never seen it used for anything but cruelty. And if Shadow Weaver truly was the  _ good  _ kind of magic user, the mind boggled at what the enemy must have on their side. 

_ Adam needs us.  _ Scorpia thought.  _ Catra and me. We can teach him to use magic for good. For once. Maybe we’d really make the world better. Oh, nerts! _ She squawked as the red light burst and the Warden slumped to one knee. Steam rose from his bald head and huge bare arms. His mighty jaw was clenched so tight Scorpia expected to hear his teeth cracking.

“Be gone,” Shadow Weaver said, not deigning to look at him. “I have work to do.”

His lone Prison Trooper, who’d been pressed to a far corner out of sight, scooped up their unconscious comrade and fled at once. Trapjaw struggled to his feet, eyes distant and scared. He limped past Scorpia with a mutter she couldn’t make out. Shadow Weaver stood alone in the room, her hair writhing like snakes on an invisible arcane wind.

_ She’s got her magic back. And Lord Hordak’s out of seclusion. ‘What difference could one night make’, hu Scorpia? So much for that one, you big doof! _

“Now,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was not pleasant, not by a long shot, but it had become less hostile, “do you really think you’re going to be safe hiding under there, little Adam?” The way she looked at the unmade bed was as if it wasn’t there at all and she could see right through Adam’s hiding spot and into his eyes. “Come out here, young man. This instant.”

“Um,” Scorpia stepped into the room like it would collapse on her at any second, “h-hey, Adam, uh…it’s me! Scorpia. Remember? I…I envenomed you that one time? But I won’t this time cuz…cuz we’re cool and…I got you your tunic!”

There was no noticeable movement from under the bed but Shadow Weaver’s mask had slowly turned to regard her with a look of mild surprise.

“You are also excused, Scorpia,” she said, sounding a little exhausted, “I have this handled from here.” Her white eyes narrowed on the purple tunic in Scorpia’s claws. “What on Etheria is…oh, that  _ is _ vile. Force Captain, incinerate that at once.”

“Huh?” Scorpia’s scared brain began to sound a few more alarm bells.  _ The papers! Oh, man. Don’t let her see them! Catra would *not* like that!  _

“Oh, this?” Scorpia said, “This is Adam’s. Y’see. We…that is I…that is, Catra asked me to clean this so that Adam could still wear it without getting sick.” Shadow Weaver’s fingers interlocked, thumbnails tacking loudly together as she gave Scorpia a flat glare. “It’s…he likes to wear it?”

“I am trying to remember when I asked,” Shadow Weaver said. “That rag of his will do him no more good. Dispose of it. Now.”

“Ma’am,” Scorpia found her voice, “with all due respect, I have to disagree-  _ very politely  _ disagree! It helps Adam relax. It’s familiar to him, and safe... Like…like armor!” She grinned hard and with faux joy. “It’ll make him… uh, cooperative!” Shadow Weaver turned to the bed.

“Cooperative? Adam,  **come out from under there.”** The boy crawled out slowly, joints stiff and eyes wide with terror. “You may find that such concerns are a thing of the past, Force Captain Scorpia. Now, Adam,  **stand up.”** His body trembled as he obeyed, eyes shooting around the room like rotating blue warning-lights. Shadow Weaver scoffed. Thin fingers plucked at the boy’s claw-tailored pants.

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Shadow Weaver said to herself, “I give her perfectly good clothing and yet she can hardly find the effort to make use of them. ” Shadow Weaver flicked her hand at Scopria. “Before you leave. Make yourself useful and find the plastic box I gave her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scorpia said. She needed to get out of this room. Get the papers somewhere safe and get to Catra. Catra was by herself and who knows what Lord Hordak would do to her. She used her stinger to pull quietly open the top drawer of Catra’s dresser.

“Whoops,” she said, play-acting, “not in here, isn’t that just too…bad!” She choked on the last word as a sheaf of yellowed papers slipped out of the tunic like cheese from a purple sandwich. “No no no no no no.”

“And this hair,” Shadow Weaver went on, Adam made a little noise of discomfort as a lock of his bangs was tugged, “is riddled with lice by now, knowing  _ her  _ bathing habits. If I only had the time and a shaver…another time perhaps. Sit, boy.”

Scorpia peeked behind her and saw Adam obey at once. Rapidly and with none of the strange slowness that mired him before. It seemed magic wasn’t needed any longer.

“Scorpia,” Shadow Weaver snapped, “the clothing?”

“Uh…yeah…uh,” she jammed the tunic into the top drawer, slamming it shut and crouching to check the next one. Her powerful physique served as an excellent cover for the scattered yellow papers…for the moment. She opened the next drawer and blew a loud whistle of air in relief. “Here it is! You’re welcome…ma’am.”

A crackle of lightning made her shrink away as the box flew, magnetized, into Shadow Weaver’s waiting hand. She placed it on the bed, opened it, and directed Adam to change into the newer, less destroyed outfit.

Scorpia shuffled the papers into her claws, coughing loudly to cover the crinkling noise. She opened the lowest drawer and found a small pair of boots inside. There was an ‘ah’ of recognition from Shadow Weaver and the boots levitated on a wave of red magic.

Scorpia’s coughing became real. And terrified.

“Are you feeling well, Force Captain?”

“Yeah-ack-yeah, so good. Feel-koff-great!” She shoved the loose papers into this second hiding spot and slammed the drawer. Adam’s clothes landed in a pile before her. The boy was dressed in the new, simple white shirt and gray pants, holding out a pair of socks in confusion.

“Um?” Adam said. Shadow Weaver snatched them from his hands and demonstrated them. Adam grimaced and began scratching at one foot with his other. He tugged at the long, clingy sleeves of the Horde Cadet shirt.

“ **Stop that.”** The boy’s hands froze and went to his sides.

“Mmmm,” he hummed sadly. His eyes found Scorpia and begged for help.

“Shadow Weaver…if you want ma’am, I can help handle-”

“You may go now, Force Captain.” Shadow Weaver said, “In fact, I would much prefer that.” Scorpia opened her mouth to protest but found that, at a single glance from the woman’s red mask, she could say nothing but ‘yes, ma’am’.

“Eeeeh,” Adam whined. The laces on his boots squeaked as Shadow Weaver yanked them tight.

“They pinch now,” she tutted, “because you’ve never worn them. Think of it as an incentive to put them on, little Adam. It will hurt less the sooner you accept it.” Scorpia caught Adam’s eye and offered a pained smile.  _ Be brave, little guy. It’ll be ok. _

Hopefully she’d believe that when she finally got to Catra. Scorpia found a spot far from the door and hunkered down to wait. When Shadow Weaver finally left, she’d get the papers and then run like the wind to Hordak’s throne room. Catra was smart. Catra would know what to do.

* * *

  
  
  


Catra had no idea what to do. She offered Lord Hordak the honest answer solely because she couldn’t come up with an iron-clad lie fast enough.

“He’s…in my room,” Catra folded her arms behind her back, “Lord Hordak.” The crowded throne room rippled with whispers. Octavia and Grizzlor glared at her from the sidelines, flanked by a dozen of their soldiers each. Admiral Leech and his marines seemed unmoving but she could feel their judgment. A sharp movement of Hordak’s hazard-red eyes silenced all. Then he turned that gaze on Catra and she resisted the instinct to puff up and appear larger.

“Why is that, Force Captain Catra?” Catra turned a harsh, vengeful glare on a dozen Horde Prison Troopers in full riot-gear.

“ _ Someone _ thought I couldn’t find my way here alone,” Catra growled at them, “so they ‘encouraged me’ to come along with them.” Trapjaw was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. Catra might’ve laughed off a smaller response team of his troops, or fought her way through a less armored one, but their numbers had been sprawling and showing up to Lord Hordak battered and bruised wouldn’t do. She had to look strong.

Her life might depend on it. Adam’s absolutely did.

“You misunderstand,” Hordak’s voice was clear, concise, un-muffled by the press of people at the base of his throne. “Why was he in your quarters to begin with? Surely there were cells open in our prison.” She hated this. This stupid word game where Hordak pushed her to admitting she’d done something bad. She hated it when Shadow Weaver did it and she despised whenever Hordak proved he wasn’t above it himself.

“I didn’t think Warden Trapja…Warden Kronis was up to the task.” She heard someone mutter an invective against her. Someone from her ‘escort’. As if the world conspired against her, the topic of conversation stomped through giant doors of Hordak’s throne room. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes searching for blonde hair at waist-height, but instead they eventually settled on a pair of bruised red eyes. She couldn’t stop from smiling. “Looks like I was right. He’s a stinker, huh, Warden? Tougher than he looks.”

“Catra, enough.” Hordak’s voice was a soft growl of warning, “Warden Kronis. Where is the boy?”

“My lord,” Kronis bowed, “Shadow Weaver is bringing the child herself. Her orders…”

“I am becoming very concerned that my officers are more interested in  _ who  _ accomplishes a task than seeing that task done,” Catra cursed the universe as Hordak glared at her, “I know how you chose to interpret my ‘personal orders’ , Force Captain Catra, but there is a reason the Fright Zone has a Warden.”

“I…thought it would be best if Adam…”

“Structure exists to  _ support order _ ,” Hordak said, leaning forward into the light as he cut her off. He was dressed in a black tabard with the red symbol of the Horde on the breast, “I have a Force Captain, a Warden, and a Second-In-Command who have, in open defiance of that structure, sewn  _ chaos _ . Perhaps it is a minor difference,” he addressed all assembled now, “but the fact remains that if each of you had followed protocol, a missing prisoner would not be delaying us all. Now. Where he is supposed to be!”

“She never brought him to me for processing,” Catra would have hugged Trapjaw -ok, not really- for so bravely, and stupidly, throwing himself onto the grenade, “when I told her he should be in one of my cells-”

“She refused? And you accepted that? Be silent, Warden! The Force Captain at least kept watch on this prisoner. Instead of sulking somewhere in her own impotence.”

_ Yowch.  _ Catra struggled not to snicker.  _ Better you than me, Trapjaw. Thanks buddy. _

“But,” Hordak said, as if reading her thoughts, “where our Warden has failed to carry out his duties, you have flown in direct opposition to your own, Catra.”

“Adam’s not dangerous…I mean, he’ll head-butt your nose into pieces, but I can control him, Lord Hordak. Better than any prison cell.” That hadn’t been the right answer. Hordak’s sneer turned from angry to furious. His voice stayed even.

“Where are you soldiers, Force Captain? Your detachment? The soldiers you have the  _ honor  _ to lead into our war for Etheria?” Catra swallowed a snarl of frustration. This was pointless. Who cared where her soldiers were? She was offering Hordak a She-Ra on a silver platter and all he could ask her about was the grunts she’d been saddled with since Adora ran away.

“They’re…in the Infirmary, Lord Hordak.” She winced as she said it. Bad enough she had to fess up to a useless battalion, but she’d sounded less than confident. She could not afford to look weak.

“Dr. Grox?” Hordak turned his head slightly and the troll emerged from the press of bodies. He looked no more well-rested than yesterday. “What were the casualties for Force Captain Catra’s detachment?” The surgeon spared Catra a tired look of resignation before flipping open his clipboard.

“Of forty-five troopers: thirty-three will need another two days of care before returning to active duty. Seven will require a week. Five are on…indefinite treatment.” Catra’s anger fizzled at the news and she wondered which five of her troopers it was that she wouldn’t see soon. She hoped it wasn’t her old squad. She’d need them for her plans.

_ Focus. Don’t get distracted! Deal with them later. _

“And when did Force Captain Catra come to you for a report on their readiness?”

_ Never.  _ Catra awaited the hammer.

“I informed her yesterday,” Dr. Grox said, “when I was summoned to perform a physical on Adam. The prisoner.” Catra’s lifelong schooling in lying to avoid trouble told her to take Grox’s handout without flinching.

_ ‘Children taken in war look out for each other.’  _ Catra stood up straighter while thinking of the memory.  _ Thank Etheria for saps like you, doc. _

__ __ “A great deal of allowances were made for this one prisoner,” Hordak said, unperturbed that his previous line of accusation had hit a dead-end, “and what is the reason for this, Force Captain?”

_ Time to stick my neck out for another magical blonde. I swear I’m cursed.  _ Catra stepped forward and bowed low.

“Lord Hordak,” Catra said, “Adam-”

“You wish to use him as a weapon,” Hordak cut her off so abruptly she spoke over him for a minute. He waved his staff. “Yes. I remember what you suggested. I do not need to hear your argument. We are  _ not  _ here to discuss ideas of granting you some pet project, Force Captain. He is here as a prisoner. Taken for attacking the heart of the Fright Zone. For injuring over one-hundred of your comrades!”

“My lord,” Catra said, “that wasn’t…it wasn’t all him! There was a-a shadow thing! That messed with people’s head!”

“Says who,” Octavia cut in. “Something happened that night, for sure, but I don’t think it was a ‘shadow.’ I think it was the little magic freak that showed up in our home and jumped all of us.”

“How would you know?” Catra sneered. “You were unconscious the whole time after the big guy knocked you out.”

“Come here and say that, furball,” one of Octavia’s veterans shoved forward, her arm in a sling and murder in her eyes, “at least our captain acts like a real captain!”

“Deva, get back in line!” Octavia roared.

“She’s right,” one of the Prison Troopers took the opening to declare, “think of all the stuff we’ve been hearing about this kid, and this girl treats him like a freaking house-guest.”

“Send him to Beast Island!” Someone yelled. “He should be there already!”

“Let us have a crack at him,” a soldier from Grizzlor’s company shouted, “he’s gotta pay for what he did to our guys!” The room began to grow into a furnace of anger and the heat began to suffocate her voice as she tried to talk over them.

“Lord Hordak!” Catra called out to the distant ruler. “They don’t know what they’re talking about! I do! You have to listen to me!” If only everyone would just shut up and let her speak. Hordak’s attention wasn’t on her though, or the discord around them, it was focused behind her, at the doorway.

“Enough,” Hordak thundered. All noise in the room petered out and died as officers began shouting threats at their underlings. Then the sound of a tiny pair of boots was all anyone could hear. Catra knew what she was going to see as she turned.

__ Shadow Weaver entered like a bored conqueror and everyone she passed had to feel like they weren’t even there. Most were preoccupied with the figure next to her. 

Adam looked all wrong. The new clothing had an odd, disempowering affect on him. Even the ripped up clothing Catra gave him had given him that hint of wildness that the clean, white shirt and gray pants stole. It played off his skinny frame well and the tiny clomp-clomp of his little boots was a familiar sound to anyone raised in the Horde.

His hair was driving Catra nuts. It didn’t look exactly the same as Adora’s ponytail, no stupid poof for one thing, and far too much of it for another, but it looked too similar for her taste.He looked so mundane. So normal. He would’ve blended in with any Cadet Squad if not for the sheer stupid amount of hair on his head. 

Then she noticed his movements. They were jerky and stilted, at first she thought he was nervous or maybe the boots were a size too big, but then as they passed him, she saw Adam’s eyes strain to look at her as he marched past. They flashed fear, joy, and a cry for help at her before she all she could see was the long tail of blonde hair unspooling down his back.

_ She played me.  _ Her teeth ground together.  _ I swear I’ll get her back for this. _

Shadow Weaver bowed and Adam…bent oddly in a valiant imitation of a bow, his head twisting a little as his ponytail fell into his face. He sputtered and spat some hair.

“Yuck,” he muttered. In the silent hall he might as well have shouted it.

“Lord Hordak,” Shadow Weaver rose, “please, forgive my lateness. I was preparing our guest to be presentable for this event.”

“We were just discussing the privileges afforded to our prisoner,” Hordak said, eyes now focused solely on Adam, “surely there is a Cadet in our army who those boots would serve better than him.”

“A just and magnanimous observation, Lord Hordak,” Shadow Weaver said, “if it be your wish, I can take back the clothing at once.”

_ At once.  _ Catra wanted to barf.  _ She means it. _

“Beside the point,” Hordak scoffed, “now, where are you from, boy? Why did you come here?” To most people in the room, Catra expected the question sounded natural. But there was a tic, small though it was, that Catra noticed in Hordak’s face. He turned sharply to her as if sensing her observation. “Can he speak?”

“Well-”

“The boy is almost certainly feral,” Shadow Weaver said, ignoring Catra’s glare, “and I doubt he would have anything interesting to say as it is.” Shadow Weaver bowed slightly again. “My Lord, may I ask what is to be done with him?”

“H-hang on,” Catra said, “wait a minute! Before we do that…” Shadow Weaver turned a glare in her direction that nearly gave her pause…but she remembered that Shadow Weaver wasn’t the most powerful person in the room, and Hordak had yet to cut her off. “Lord Hordak, we were just saying that Adam didn’t mess with anybody’s head!”

“Catra,” Shadow Weaver turned fully to her, “this is not the time for you to offer your  _ half-baked theories _ on magic.”

“Was the boy responsible?” Hordak’s voice fell between them like a guillotine blade. “Or was he not?” Shadow Weaver’s eyes promised Catra several kinds of retribution before she turned towards Hordak.

“It…would appear that there are…other explanations…I do not believe the child is responsible,” she spoke like every word stabbed her in the stomach, “if that is any bearing on your decision, sire.”

“Shadow Weaver, what of the boy’s magical nature then? Shall we assume he is not responsible for his physical attacks on us? Unless this other entity  _ you  _ describe is also responsible.” Catra didn’t miss the way Hordak’s eyes cut into Shadow Weaver but she had to hold off on reveling in it as an opportunity opened up.

“He’s not!” All eyes, most filled with some kind of hatred, turned on her. She flicked her tail and grinned. “There’s a difference between them. See, the big guy is…well…Adam is…uh…you alright there, kid?” Attention returned to the boy and found him still bowing strange, face turning red from the effort.

“ **Stand up straight,** you little cretin,” Shadow Weaver snapped. Adam popped up like a spring-loaded toy and took a deep breath of relief. He rubbed at his neck with one hand and lower back with the other.

“Ow,” he whined. Out of his trance, the boy turned and looked at Catra. “Catra!” It was surreal to watch him race over to her, stumbling twice and glaring at his boots, as if nothing else in the world existed. Not Shadow Weaver. Not an army of soldiers. Not the Lord Hordak Himself watching all from his high throne. “Hi!”

“Hey, booger,” Catra whispered with a smirk, “good timing. Help me with something.” She twirled her finger and Adam turned around. She locked eyes with Shadow Weaver and snipped the hair tie on his head, smiling when he huffed happily and massaged his sore scalp. “As I was saying, this is Adam. Adam didn’t hurt anybody…well, he hurt me, maybe Kronis, but only as bad as any 10-year-old can… now, the other guy…the big guy with resting murder face? He’s the one you blame.”

“The same individual,” Shadow Weaver snapped, “You so moronically think he will-”

“Let her speak,” Hordak said.

Catra wished with all her heart she could take the look in Shadow Weaver’s eyes and frame it in her quarters, to help her get through all the really bad times. Adam’s head cocked curiously at the purr rumbling in her chest.

“Adam,” she said, “do you remember…him?” She pointed at Lord Hordak. The boy stared up at the throne and squinted then backed against her leg and clasped both hands around his neck. “Very good. Do you remember her?” She directed him to Ocatavia’s trooper, Deva. Octavia seethed, her single eye bounced furiously between the boy and Catra, unable to decide who to glare at most. Deva’s injuries had come after an ill-fated attempt to drive a spear in the big guy’s arm. They’d not been acquainted otherwise. Adam scratched his head and shrugged, then gestured at Octavia.

“Catra,” he said, then covered his left eye. She laughed.

“Yup,” she jabbed a thumb at herself, speaking softly, “cuz of me.” Adam gasped as she flexed her claws. “Not much bigger than you when I did it either.” She stage-whispered. “Guess she’s really bad at fighting children.”

“Gonna make you eat those words with your teeth on the side, Catra,” Octavia growled.

“Adam,” Catra stood, “doesn’t remember Deva. Even though she beat the stuffing out of the ‘big guy’ and then, evidence shown,” here she gestured to several huge bandages on the furious woman’s body, “got the stuffing beaten out of her.”

“What does that prove?” Octavia asked. “What happened with Lord Hordak?”

“Be silent,” Hordak said, “Catra, mind yourself. Everyone here has done their part to protect the Fright Zone. I will not have you impugning them for your own gain.” Her easy smile curdled at his sudden scowl. “Despite the rumors, I know for a fact you did not defeat this…other entity… single handedly. Do not act as if you did.”

“Yes, Lord Hordak,” Catra said. “Shadow Weaver agrees with me.”

“Shadow Weaver?” Hordak asked. Familiarity with the sorceress let Catra tell, just by the slight tension in her shoulders, that Shadow Weaver was  _ mad _ .

“Anything is possible, my lord,” Shadow Weaver said, “and the boy certainly possesses none of this alter-ego’s strength or skill.”

“So,” Catra said, ruffling the boy’s hair, “I think maybe we should forget about accusing him of anything.” She gestured at him like a shiny new skiff for sale. “I think what we have here isn’t a prisoner, my lord, but an opportunity. A chance to throw some real power at the Rebellion. Something they couldn’t possibly expect.”

“Sire, I must interject now,” Shadow Weaver said, “lest Catra imply that I ‘approve’ of this scheme of hers. I do not. I believe it is a  _ terrible  _ idea.” 

“Aww, don’t break my heart like this, Shadow Weaver,” Catra snarked.

“I will not continue to suffer these interruptions,” Hordak growled, “unless I give you leave, Force Captain, I command you to practice the same silence that my army has been affording you.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” Shadow Weaver’s voice turned upwards with a smile, “might I offer a suggestion if you have yet to decide the boy’s fate?” Hordak frowned and motioned rapidly with his hand, softly growling with impatience. “We have never had a being of such magical potential in our grasp before. I believe we may learn much, not simply about one enemy, but all our enemies. The power of the Rebellion is in the Princesses.” 

Shadow Weaver turned slightly to regard Adam before addressing Hordak once more. 

“There is much to learn from this child. If you allow me the chance to examine him.” 

“C-C-Catra?”Adam squeaked. While no one was looking Catra smoothed a hand through the boy’s hair.

“It’s ok,” she whispered, “don’t worry about her.” 

“And if he is simply some child? Devoid of any power? Have you considered that the sword might be his only asset?” 

Catra swallowed the protests rising in her throat. Shadow Weaver nodded. 

“He can always be disposed of when you command it, my lord,” Shadow Weaver said with callous indifference, “or should you see it as most prudent, I would simply put him with the other children. A soldier in our army. Nothing more.” 

“Who’d take him?” Grizzlor grumbled. “Little freak…” he yelped as a blast of red lightning crackled by his ear and scattered the soldiers behind him in terror. 

“I am not speaking to you, Force Captain,” Shadow Weaver hissed. She bowed to Hordak once more. “With your permission, sire, I would start at once…”

“You  **do not** have my permission,” Hordak said, then looked at Catra, “and neither do you have my permission to enact this plan of yours. For a start, if he has no ‘control’ of the warrior’s actions, I fail to see how this wouldn’t simply result in more chaos.”

“I’ve got that handled,” at slight arching of Hordak’s eyebrow, Catra added, “m-my lord. He’s already pledged himself to us! So long as Adam’s safe, he’s on our side. He made that deal with  _ me _ .”  “You made a bargain for the boy’s life then,” Shadow Weaver said. Catra then realized that, broken down to its component parts, that was her plan exactly. She didn’t  _ think  _ of her plan as holding Adam hostage. Certainly she didn’t imagine most hostages got special food, clothes, and attention. Really, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. The little booger was happy to have all this nice stuff. She was starting to see this wasn’t just her doing the smart thing; she was doing the right thing. 

_ Love to see you handle this one, Adora.  _ She thought with bitter pride.  _ You never would’ve lasted a second up here, playing the hero in front of Lord Hordak. Now you’ll see.  _ She smiled at Adam.  _ You’ll see what I can do when you’re not holding me back.  _

“You made a deal?” Hordak asked. “You made a ‘deal’.” His mouth was going the wrong way. He was supposed to be grinning at Catra’s awesome idea. “On what authority did you make a ‘deal’ with an enemy of the Horde?”

“I thought-”

“Answer my question.” His voice was urgent as a knife at Catra’s back.

“My own,” Catra offered, “as a Force Captain.” Shadow Weaver sighed quietly to her left and she knew then, more than when Hordak erupted, that she’d sunk her entire argument in a few words.

“You barely understand your own responsibilities as a Force Captain, Catra, and you are making ‘deals’ now? You led your soldiers into captivity. You led them into a near-massacre in Horde Square.” Hordak rose from his throne with a flap of his black cape. “You denigrate and demean the officers  _ I  _ hand-picked to lead this army and fly in the face of protocol. And you make ‘deals’?” Catra shouted back, matching his energy before her good sense could take over.

“We  _ need  _ a way to defeat She-Ra!  _ This  _ is the answer!” She grasped Adam’s shoulders. “All that power! And look! He’s just some little kid! He’ll do whatever we want… Whatever  _ you  _ want, Lord Hordak! We can’t throw that away!”

“I am sick of hearing about the endless potential of this  _ child _ ,” Hordak seethed, “what need has the Horde of a champion? We have the finest soldiers ever trained on this wretched planet.”

“Who are we?” Catra jolted as Octavia roared suddenly.

“We are the Horde!” The room roared back from all sides. Marines, veteran frontliners, and prison guards united to drown Catra in their zealous response.

“And what is the Horde?”

“The Horde is Order!”

“Who are we?”

“We are Order!” Above all this Hordak sat patiently, a smirk playing across his angular face. A raised hand stopped the uproar and the proud silence that followed burned her up.

She was alone. Like always. Alone against a system of idiots who couldn’t possibly see this kid for the golden chance he was.  _ Army _ . She-Ra was an army. A one-woman army.  _ Protocol _ . As if that mattered when all your Force Captains are constantly at each other's throats. It was infuriating. It was too much. 

“If we break her,” Catra growled, “If we  _ break She-Ra, _ we break the Rebellion. They aren’t just whistling at the paint on their new Princess and her shiny crown. They think she’s proof that we’re finished! She’s proof they’re gonna win! They think She-Ra is their ‘hero’ and with her, they can finally push us off Etheria! Don’t you want to prove them wrong? Show them we’re stronger? Use their hope against them?”

“Heroes.” Shadow Weaver scoffed, either to push her own agenda or because she just hated Catra that much. “King Micah was the hero of the Rebellion,  _ once _ .”

“And he almost  _ destroyed the Fright Zone _ !” She heard the deafening silence before she considered what she’d just said. 

She was amongst the youngest people in the room, but even she remembered being rushed out of bed, four-years-old and bleary-eyed, clinging to Adora as a den-sergeant drove them forward. Red lights gleamed overhead, sirens blared, and as they’d passed over one of the Compass Roads, the main avenues of the Fright Zone, there had been a black tide of soldiers marching under them.

In the present moment, she felt the heat searing from Hordak’s eyes, but stayed firm. 

“And he was just some guy with a magic wand. What could She-Ra do if we don’t make a weapon to answer her with? What do we do when she’s at our gates?”

Hordak stared at her, then turned his head down towards Adam. His eyes narrowed.

“Warden Kronis,” his voice was crisp and clear, sharp as the edge of an executioner's axe, “take the boy to the Beast Island ferry.”

A stomping slowly filled the room and Catra could feel the hungering, hateful attention realigning itself on Adam. The boy’s hands slapped his ears against the noise. There was a deep chuckle from behind her.

“Scuse me, Force Captain,” Trapjaw said, “got a job that needs doin’. And you ain’t stopping me this time.”

“My lord,” Shadow Weaver raised her voice above the chatter. “Please. Do not let Catra’s impertinence, or _ idiotic  _ plan sour your-”

“I do not need your counsel,” Hordak said, barely having to raise his voice to be heard, “it is clear to me that the child is too much of a distraction among all of you to be allowed to remain here. And I would not unleash such a potent creature into the world to be used against us by our enemies.”

“I…the things we might  _ learn  _ from him before we dispose of him-”

“I have made my decision. Dress him up how you please and puppet him around with your magic, Shadow Weaver, if that makes you feel cunning. But don’t presume I will be taken by it.” Hordak glared at Catra, “Warden, move her if she will not heed my orders.” 

“As… As you say, my lord, I will retrieve his clothing before he departs,” Shadow Weaver bowed away, and Catra’s heart jumped from her stomach into her throat. She let go of Adam’s shoulders and realized she’d unsheathed her claws without thinking about it.

_ What am I doing?  _ Catra wondered as she stared down the towering Trapjaw with a snarl that could break glass. 

“Oh, please,” Trapjaw said with a widening grin, “please, give me an excuse, Catra. Please, do that for me.”

In that moment, Catra threw all her hopes on sheer chance, on whatever happened next, and in a twist of fate she got her wish.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Sorry!” Scorpia yelled as she jogged into the throne room, papers spilling from her arms. “Sorry, I’m late, Sorry! This is  _ so hard _ to do with claws! Ok, I got most of these. I think there might be one or two on the steps outside.” She winced, taking a few deep breaths. “Whoo! There a record for sprinting from the South-East Wing to here? If not, there is one now, heh.”

The stomping had died off as everyone took in the muscular woman’s entrance. Catra sidled to keep herself between Trapjaw and Adam, mind racing for a solution.

“Catra, I brought those papers we talked about,” Scorpia winked so much it looked like she was having a spasm, “ya remember those papers? That we totally discussed?”

“What are you talking about?” Shadow Weaver floated forward, plucking one of the yellow pages off the ground. “What is this?”

“Uh,” Scorpia huffed, “I think that’s the first page? Maybe. Is it?”

“Why were these not brought to me….where are these even from!?” Shadow Weaver was caught off guard and, like most things, Catra knew this made her angry.

“It was the lining of Adam’s tunic.”

Catra waited to wake up from the bizarre nightmare she was having and came out of it when Adam tugged at her hand. He nodded at the big doorway in a silent question.

“Adam,” she took her hand back and pressed a finger to her lips, “shh.”

“Mm,” Adam grumped. He really had no idea what was going on. Hordak had not flown into a rage yet and that gave Catra hope.

“Boy,” Shadow Weaver said, “come forward. Can you read these?” Adam slunk away as the sorceress approached, stopped by Catra’s hand. He looked at the paper and blinked rapidly.

_ Please. Please, Adam. _

Catra wouldn’t let him go and the lady of darkness wouldn’t go away. Adam stared at the paper she held out between two gray fingers. It was covered in ‘words’ like Grox’s paper had been the other day. Different words. Stranger looking words.

Adam wished he could read them. Maybe they were important.

**I can try to help.** The Other One’s voice was clear and resonant. He had been quietly urging him to run away since Adam entered the chamber.  **If you see a chance, run past the lord’s throne. The sword is near.**

“Ah,” Adam said absently, still interested in the yellow paper. There was a sudden presence behind his eyes as an idea began to appear in his head. Sounds shaped like images that didn’t connect completely.

_ To the First Imperial Senate…The Decay of Magic…A Warning to the Universe…I, Marlena Glenn, Queen of Eternia do attest that all…compiled from many of our worlds…a slow death and the end not only of the Empire but…unless action be taken… _

__ __ “Mmmmmmm,” Adam clutched his head, pain pounding above his eyes. It was all meaningless to him and he couldn’t begin to make any of it out.

**There is nothing more I can do. Get free. Find the sword. I can protect you.**

“I suppose there was little reason to hope,” the lady of darkness sighed, “my lord, there appears to be a number of blue-prints here as well.”

“Bring them to me,” the man in the high throne said. The white-haired lady with the claws, ‘Sk-or-pia’ that was her name, struggled to do so. There was a flap of leathery wings and blur of movement overhead, then the lady of darkness gasped indignantly. A small creature with yellow eyes darted away on batwings, clutching the last paper in its hand.

“Lord Hordak?” Catra asked. Adam frowned. Catra sounded so scared. It didn’t make him feel any better at all. He scratched one of his ears and thought about that strange word. ‘Lord’. Why was that so familiar?

_ The test of this experimental magic is quite simple, my lord. _

__ __ _ Please…I am not…that is not my title.  _ Adam blinked and watched a gold wave tumble down over his eyes. The soldiers vanished and the room shifted. He gasped. He was in the old gray castle, in the throne room where his story wall was, but it wasn’t empty and wrecked. It was covered in rich hangings depicting three repeating symbols.

One was a falcon perched atop a skull in gray. The next a bronze eagle flying on a pink field. And lastly, one was a simple image of the sword…no…not his sword…but like it! It was much prettier than his blade. The sapphire blade ended in a detailed gold hilt, inlaid with a brilliant blue gem.

People. There were people in the Gray Castle! A man in armor like the strange statue in the great hall stood there, alive and moving. But this armor wasn’t the uniform gray of the sculpture. It was brilliant emerald over an orange uniform. The man was staring down at Adam, which gave him the strange feeling that he was much smaller than normal. 

A face leaned over him, he saw a thin mouth beneath a headdress like a bird of prey. White crested with red feathers streaming down.

_Of course. What would you prefer then,_ _Sirrah? Guardsman? Man-At-Arms?_

__ __ _ Duncan.  _ The man said.  _ Duncan is fine. Can he…can he see us now? I’ve heard babies can’t focus at this age. _

__ __ Adam huffed. He wasn’t a baby!

_ It’s alright. It’s just a test. He’ll never see this himself… and if things go as we wish, he’ll never know anything about this either. It’s… _

__ __ _ For emergines,  _ the man sighed,  _ I know. Prince Adam.  _ The man knelt, one fist pressed knuckle-first to the stone floor,  _ my name is Duncan and it is my honor to serve you…may I…do I need to say more? _

__ __ _ A bit longer, my lord-I’m sorry. ‘Duncan.’ A bit longer. Almost finished. _

__ __ The man’s helmeted head rose and stared up at Adam.

_ Prince Adam, there has been so much heartbreak. If this…if this is the way to end it, than I will do all I can to fulfill my role as Man-At-Arms. Your guardian.  _ He fiddled with his helmet and revealed a proud face. It was angular at the jaw, a dark umber color, his mustache a rich jet-black horseshoe of crinkly hair that matched the close-cropped dome upon his head.  _ Until you are ready. To be… _ the gold light made the tears that crept down his face gleam… _ to take your father’s…to be…King of Eternia. I…I can’t do this. Please. Not right now. _

__ __ _ It’s alright, Duncan.  _ The bird-masked woman said sadly.  _ You’ve done very well.  _ The gold light shimmered away and the man on the high-throne was speaking.

“…even begin to read these. How precisely would keeping the boy here aid us in that?”

“Not the boy, but She-Ra!” Catra was saying, desperation in her voice, “They say she could read these before with no training! What if we teach him to read? There’s so much potential to him, my lord.”  _ My lord.  _ Adam stepped away from Catra and stared up at the man on the throne. He’d glanced in Adam’s direction and stared hard with his pupil-less red eyes. Just the look made Adam’s stomach sour.

Was this what Catra wanted? Maybe. Adam knelt, like the Man-At-Arms had done in his vision, and pressed his knuckles into the concrete. 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, “mmmmmmy. L-l-llll.”

He could feel the crowded hall staring at him and blushed shyly. He dipped his head, closing his eyes to perfect the imitation. Catra was scared. He had to be brave for Catra.

“Mmmmy,” he groaned, pushing out the words, “llllll-orrrrrd-dd-d. Mmmmy lllord.” He grinned as the words clicked in his mind. “My lord!”

“Hee-hee,” he heard Scorpia giggle, “so cute. He’s like a little gentleman.”

“Force Captain,” the lord in question said, “what is the meaning of this?”

“S-see,” Catra said, “pretty good right? He’s ready to serve you.”

“Ready to serve,” Hordak snarled, “yes, eager to serve. Perhaps it would be better to give him your position, Force Captain. He is the only person here who hasn’t lied to me.” Hordak cast a hateful glare around the throne room. “We must remember our purpose in this war. To bring order. Yet there has been nothing but discord over this child since he arrived.” 

“Our war,” Catra gasped then cleared her throat, “exactly, Lord Hordak. Our war. To bring order to Etheria. To end magic’s tyranny. To make the Rebellion pay.” Adam looked up as Catra padded up to his shoulder. “Adam isn’t much. But he’s a start. He needs the Horde, Lord Hordak, to make something of him. To take all the wildness and chaos and make him a soldier. Even magic has a place if it can serve the Horde, and Adam is ready to serve.” She nodded at him. “Right, Adam?” Adam took her cue and nodded back, not sure why, but happy to see her smile when he did.

He turned back to the lord on his throne and found the man peering through him with his scary red eyes.

* * *

  
  


Hordak pushed through the emotions, hating each of them. He could kill the child outright and end this farce and he felt a powerful urge to do exactly that. But…that was petty rage talking. That was humiliation and anger over the portal incident coming back to him now. The boy, perhaps, couldn’t be blamed for that.

Illogical to do so.

His soldiers. They would resent mercy and it pained him to admit that it was fear whispering that in his mind. Fear. What kind of Horde Leader would fear his own troops? He might let the child live to spite them. To show them they held no power over the boy. Over him, the lord they were honored to serve. 

No. Irrational.

Most of all, he hated the thought of letting the boy go completely. Sent out of the Fright Zone, he’d likely die in the wastelands, if some enterprising soldier didn’t hunt him down. Exiling him to Beast Island was a kindness by comparison. There he’d find swift doom and he would not be sport for some weak-willed foot-soldier. A mercy.

Emotional.

Exile. He knew the bitterness of that too well. He pushed down the beginning of sympathy. He was weak. He should not recognize weakness in other things as anything noble. Weakness. Flaw. Those were sins. Crimes committed in the eyes of Horde Prime. The boy sinned as Hordak sinned. Both of them apostates from the purity of strength. To condemn the child out of hand was to condemn himself, perhaps. All things had a place in Horde Prime’s army, both of them included. But for this child such opportunities for honor had come too late. He had committed crimes that could not simply be waived. Justice had to be done.

_ Brother,  _ he thought,  _ If only you were here. You would know what to do. With these emotional creatures I must command and craft order from scratch. They are like you said; governed by reactions and selfish enterprise. Even given a chance to prove themselves worthy, they cannot shed their instinct to bark and holler like beasts. Show me how to cleanse their petty minds. _

__ __ “My lord?”

“Speak, Shadow Weaver.”

“If I may,” the sorceress stepped into the center of the room, commanding all attention, “Perhaps his loyalty might be tested. Prove himself worthy of the Horde. When we take the Kingdoms and their Princesses, we must determine who among them can be swayed to our cause. It will benefit us in the long run to experiment with solutions now.” 

“A test?” What was the meaning of this new trick? Doubtlessly a way to keep the boy alive. If she would apply herself to her other responsibilities with the same enthusiasm she hunted down magic, perhaps the war would’ve ended long ago. 

“The boy has insulted the Horde with his attack. This ‘test’ might determine the best way to punish him. Either through service, banishment, or… whatever you decide.”

“That wasn’t him!” And Catra. Fiery. Impudent. Young and arrogant. Yet she stood victorious, when so many others had fallen, and Hordak did not diminish accomplishments like that by ascribing them to luck. She was far too much like her mentor, though. Scheming. Desperate for power. 

“Silence, Catra. Shadow Weaver, elaborate,” Hordak nodded at the sorceress, intrigued despite himself.

“I can offer several potential challenges....” 

“All of them totally fair, I bet!” Catra spat. 

“Force Captain!” Hordak yelled. Catra bowed. With her head still hanging low, she continued.

“He’s a little boy! He’s been starved! He’s...what does it say about us if we give him a ‘test’ we all know he’s gonna fail?”

“Be very careful with your words,” Shadow Weaver said, “you speak before our Lord.”

“She raises a fair point,” Hordak said, “balance is paramount to a fair judgement.” He noted the rustling amongst his troopers. “As likely to fail as succeed. And if he fails, you will both abide by the outcome. Quietly and with not a word of protest. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Catra said, hiding her face by bowing lower. Her tail twitched behind her and displayed her agitation either way. Shadow Weaver inclined her head, appearing unperturbed. As he’d guessed, whatever ‘test’ she planned would likely be rigged in her own favor. 

“Then there is only one question remaining,” he said. “How is the child to be tested? What can he do?” There was a long moment where Catra and Shadow Weaver froze as they considered the question.

“Fight?” Scorpia offered. Hordak smiled and the Force Captain began to stammer. “I mean- I mean! Other things too! Maybe he plays a mean game of cards or something, my lord, we haven’t really gotten a chance to ask him-”

“The boy will fight,” Hordak announced, “and if he prevails he might be useful to me. If he fails the question is answered. I believe none can call this an unfair outcome.” 

“Yes, Lord Hordak,” Catra said. “All he needs is his sword-” 

“The boy is not the warrior. Wasn’t that your argument?  _ He  _ will fight.” Hordak leaned forward. “Unless you believe he’s useless without his weapon?” Catra remained still for a brief moment before she leapt for the bait.

“No. He’s tough. He learns fast. He’d be a good soldier.” Catra looked up, eyes wide. “Ten days! Dr. Grox said he’d need ten days to be at full strength. If he’s gotta fight, he should…if you’d permit it…my lord, he needs ten days to fight.”

“There is no need to delay this,” Shadow Weaver said, “we can have this settled before…”

“Ten days. Then he fights.” Hordak watched the room ripple with his proclamation, and it satisfied him. No one was happy. As it should be. This was no theater for audacious characters of his army to play out their schemes, nor was it a democracy ruled by the chaos of a mob. This was his great project. His Fright Zone. His law. Crafted in the image of the greatest ruler in history. 

He stopped to mentally flog himself for such blasphemous pride. He was made to  _ serve _ Horde Prime even in this distant, forgotten place. He did as his older brother would’ve, no more. He was weak. He deserved to struggle. But through it, he would find redemption. That mission would include enacting Horde Prime’s vision of justice.

The boy’s fate would be only his to decide. The boy would die without his sword, or prove himself worthy of Horde Prime’s order. And this choice would frustrate the wants and plans of his toiling subordinates. Shadow Weaver and Catra, they each in kind needed a reminder as to who ruled the Horde. Perhaps all his soldiers needed this. And…if Horde Prime had ever given him the choice of exile or a last suicide charge into enemy ranks, Hordak knew which carried greater dignity.

That was an emotional choice, but wisdom overshadowed it well enough. 

“Hah, I’ll fight him,” Octavia stepped forward, “if you’ll permit-”

“No.” Hordak turned to Warden Kronis. “Warden, find a suitable opponent for the boy in the prisons. Tell them there will be a full pardon and release to the victor of the match.” He considered the child again. Small. Weak. Children were such odd things. So different from what he'd known amongst his clone-brothers in the true Horde. Maybe this  _ was _ crueler than exile. It didn’t matter. It was justice all the same.

He was done having the boy on his mind. He’d sooner examine the indecipherable blue-prints, whose strange inventions tantalized his mind even then with possibility. The boy would die and send a message, or fall into his ranks. Either way, he’d keep the sword.

“Hooray?” he heard Force Captain Scorpia say before the din of conversation overwhelmed it. “This is… kinda good, kinda bad? Right? Eh. I’m an optimist... Deathmatch half-full… Right?”

He glared at Catra, who’d crouched to begin whispering something to the child, and at Shadow Weaver who was lurking nearby them, eyes filling with strategies.

“Force Captain,” he said, and the noise died away, “and Shadow Weaver. I forbid you both from speaking to the child during this time.”

“My lord!” Catra said, springing up. “Adam needs to be…if you would permit me…”

“If the boy requires explanation to understand his task, or…” he sneered, “…care…to be given to him, then assign it to one of your soldiers. I will not tolerate anymore negligence on your part. Prove yourself a leader Catra, or I will assume you are incapable of leading.” He turned his eyes on his Second-In-Command. 

“If the child were to survive,  _ only then _ would I consider allowing you to pursue an investigation of his magical properties. You and the Force Captain will occupy yourselves with your true responsibilities…  _ far away from the boy _ . If I have reason to believe his victory had something to do with either of you, his fate will be sealed. These are my orders.” Shadow Weaver bowed, showing no emotion.

“Um,” Scorpia grinned nervously when he glanced her way, “so…how’s Catra gonna look after him if she can’t…”

“Scorpia,” Catra groaned, Hordak smiled as she seemed to catch on, “just stop talking.”

“Warden Kronis,” the sulking man perked up, “find the child a proper cell. Where he should’ve been since the first night.” The man grinned. “Force Captain Scorpia, you will leave any relics you found on the boy in my custody. And to the rest of you,” the room stiffened and stood at attention, “my orders are thus.”

He let silence reign for a moment.

“Anyone who, for any reason, decides that they might take matters into their own hands and defy these orders will face swift punishment. Have I made myself clear?”

“All hail, Lord Hordak!” the room cried.

“Take him,” Hordak said.

“Ca-tra?” the boy was confused, frightened and then gone from the throne room as Catra shouted after him, seeking to abate his fears. Hordak, alone on his seat of power, might possibly have felt the barest flicker of guilt, for the simple fact that the child had been doomed for the crime of misfortune, having not truly done anything worse than fall, unmeaning, into a nest of adders. If he had, nothing about him had shown it. He pushed such emotions aside without noticing the effort.

All things served the Horde. All things served Order. Even the fate of one small child. 

* * *

Authors Note:  
  


The author of this fic would like to continue to wish everyone the best in this difficult time.  
  
  
Black Lives Matter

Wear a Mask

Stand with Portland Against Facisim

We're gonna win in the end. 


	12. Sleep-Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lonnie’s mission is to help Adam prepare for the fight of his life, but the more she tries to help, the more this mission seems like a waste of time. Adora receives a surprise birthday gift, but it isn’t her birthday, and this gift is addressed to someone else.

Lonnie found Kyle’s luck a funny thing to observe. He wasn’t exactly accident prone. It was more that a higher power seemed to choose him for specific moments of near-fatal clumsiness. Lonnie hands wrapped tight around his shoulders and stopped him from slipping in the slick puddle on South-East Air-Bay’s floor.

“S-so much for a ‘dry-dock’, huh, Lonnie?” The young man stammered. Lonnie righted him with a grunt and took the box of explosive charges from his arms. “Hey! I can do it!”

“Just take a seat, Kyle,” she sighed, “I’ll get this onboard.” The twenty troop carabus, a bit like an overlarge skiff, swarmed with movement as she stepped onto it. The rain had been pounding down on them all morning, a tropical depression off the Sea of Sighs that showed no plans of stopping. Swathed in black hooded-ponchos the Hordesmen looked like wraiths haunting a ghost ship.

Lonnie nodded at Marg, shared a brief invective against the storm with Chloris, told Gan ‘save some Rebels for me’ and shouldered her way into the cramped cargo hold. The security crate was shiny with rainwater in the dim light then it went dark as the hatch swung shut. Lonnie’s was left in sudden pitch-darkness ahead and fought the urge to hyperventilate.

_ Get ahold of yourself, girl, you’re not eight years old. _

Lonnie shoved her way back onto the deck, so absorbed in thought she bounced off the solid mass of Force Captain Scopria as she walked up the gangplank. She had one huge bundle of spears tucked her right arm.

“Oh,” Scorpia smiled, “hey, Lonnie, how’s it hanging?” Lonnie mumbled as she saluted, pulling up her hood against the rain with her free hand. “Glad you bumped into me, I wanted to say thanks!” Lonnie was wrapped in a one-armed-hug that everyone could see and would spend nine-days coming up with ways to razz her about. She struggled against it as Scorpia went on. “That is, thanks for looking after the little guy for us!”

“Not like I volunteered,” she said, breaking away at last, “why couldn’t you do this, Force Captain?”

“Oh, come on now! ‘Scorpia’ is just fine! We’re practically squadmates at this point.” The eager grin did nothing to improve Lonnie’s mood. “Really though. Catra was really relieved when she found out you weren’t one of the…people still in the Infirmary.”

“Like she even knows the names of the guys who are,” Lonnie grumbled, “like she cares.”

“She’d stay herself. Goodness knows I would to! But... Shadow Weaver said we can’t. Lord Hordak said we can’t.”

“Oh cool,” Lonnie barked, “so I do my job right, get injured, and thanks is I gotta carry everybody’s water anyway.”

“Hey,” Scorpia rested a huge claw on Lonnie’s shoulder, “You. Got. This. You’re the  _ best  _ soldier we have! Just make sure Adam is getting the meals he needs, show him the ropes, and in nine days from now? People are gonna be amazed by what they see.”

“Or nauseated,” Lonnie shivered, “ a ten-year-old kid in a deathmatch? Messed up.”

“I’ve seen worse odds,” Scorpia shrugged, adjusting her hold on the spears.

“When?”

“Hah! Well, for a start, yesterday,” Scorpia said, “when I was, like, eighty-eight percent sure he was going to Beast Island. Oh! And when he was fighting that shadow thingy!” Lonnie tried not to react to that reminder. “Longest odds I’ve ever seen, let me tell ya.”

“Third time’s the charm,” Lonnie said.

“That’s the spirit! Good luck. Tell Adam we’re all rooting for him!” Scorpia’s badge blinked and she activated it.

“We’re moving out in ten minutes,” Catra’s voice crackled through it, “tell everybody to shift into high gear.”

“Sure,” Scorpia grinned, “hey, Lonnie’s here. Got anything you want to say to her, boss?”

The silence from the badge was deafening.

“She…probably just didn’t hear me,” Scorpia’s smile was friendly and full of embarrassment. “See you soon!”

Lonnie stood on the dry-dock, not quite knowing what to do with herself, as the engines slowly turned from a low hum to a deafening roar. Her poncho flapped wetly around her and her hood flew back. A moment later the carabus and an escort of three skiffs roared away towards the eastern horizon. 

“This. Bites.” Lonnie said to herself. It was a short walk back to the barracks but the pockets of open sky made the journey longer with the heavy rain. 

She ducked into the room and fumbled for the light switch. Even in the weak fluorescents she felt unnerved by the sheer loneliness. She slapped her cheek slightly.

“Come on, get with it, trooper,” she sighed, “grab and shower and some sleep.” The kid could wait. So what if Catra would bite her head off if she found out? A ten-year-old had no chance in a fight against anyone except maybe another ten-year-old. And she doubted anybody in the Prison couldn’t fight the kid. The idea that anyone would take out a kid to get their freedom made her want to spit, double so for whoever commanded it to happen.

_ Careful, soldier. That's your fearless leader you’re badmouthing. _

Even in an empty room, or inside her own mind, badmouthing Lord Hordak felt like a risk not worth taking. She’d never known how to feel about him, the ‘Lord of the Fright Zone,’ whatever that was supposed to really mean. It had never mattered anyway. The Horde’s finest answered to him, no questions asked. That included every decorated trooper she’d met, every Force Captain worth their badge, every friend she’d ever had. That had always included her, too. 

But this time, something about it all felt… wrong.

_ A kid fighting to the death? Where’s the ‘honor’ in that? What’s honor even mean to a ten-year-old? And I gotta be the one to tell him... to explain it to him. What am I in the middle of right now?!  _ The bundle of food and purple fur rested at the foot of Adora’s old bed and gave her pause.

Adora. She had  _ so  _ much payback coming her way. Lonnie didn’t blame her for running, but Catra was the worst person in the world to serve under. Adora had done that to them. The empty barracks alone attested to her crime.

“Coulda just stayed,” Lonnie grumbled, “coulda just gotten the badge like we all knew you would. But nooooo. You two. Your drama. Taking us all along with you, like always.” She picked up the tunic and sank her fingers into the rough fur. “How do you all keep getting me involved in stuff like this! I never asked to be a part of all this!” She hurled the bundle at the door, the whisper of it’s impact doing nothing to relieve the anger in her.

“Stupid kid,” Lonnie growled to herself, “why are you  _ my  _ problem now?” Her bunk called to her. She’d been sleeping poorly the last few nights. She hated the Infirmary. Every minute there felt like she was risking exile. Good soldiers didn’t go to the Infirmary.

She retrieved the tunic and the ration bar wrapped in it. The door slid open automatically. It was a long trip to the Prison, most of it under the downpour. She arrived soaking wet at the shoulders and hair; it seemed even the Horde’s finest rain-gear had limits.

“You know you can’t just waltz in if you feel like it,” the Prison Trooper leading her into the heart of the complex said, Lonnie rolled her eyes, “ now I gotta take you to the Warden. Better be good.” This guard was fishing for a fight and Lonnie refused to tug the line. It was with a frustrated sigh that the trooper directed her onto the huge, extra-wide bridge that led to the core control tower of the Prison.

Built into an ancient sinkhole that reached the watery depths of the Southern Wing, the Prison was an upside down beehive shape. Honeycombs of green light marked thousands of prison cells. It was lit every few hundred feet down by blinding floodlights until it was lost in an abyss of darkness she did  _ not  _ need to look at right now.

She entered in as some joke or conversation erupted into boisterous laughter. The officers lounged at what looked vaguely like the helm of a battleship. Below them, scrunched together and sweating from the humidity, were dozens of lesser officers, monitoring the Prison inside and out. Sitting in a huge swivel chair, framed by the largest window Lonnie had seen in her life, was Warden Trapjaw.

_ Kronis. Kronis. Kronis. Don’t call him Trapjaw. _ Lonnie marched up and saluted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Trapjaw sighed, “what is it? You’re getting my floor wet.” Lonnie grimaced at the drip-dripping of her rain-slicked poncho.

“Force Captain Catra sent me, sir,” Lonnie said, crisp and clear, focused solely on her ‘mission, “I’m supposed to bring the kid his food. Three times a day. At 0800. 1300. 2000. And-” a monstrously large hand rose.

“That’s a lot,” Trapjaw said, smiling wryly as he could with his large features, “especially for one trooper. Tell you what. Leave it here. I’ll see to it personally.” That was her out. Her out of doing any of this. Knuckle under and ignore the way his buddies snickered. Pride didn’t matter when you were on a mission. She’d never have to see any of these people again, most likely, so she didn’t need to care what they thought.

_ You. Got. This.  _ Scorpia’s words started flanking her. The kid had bad chances at best right now. At best. But if he went into the ring without training -or starved by Trapjaw- he had zero chances. When the inevitable happened, Catra was gonna hold her accountable anyway… but let no-one say Lonnie didn’t try.

“Thank you, sir, but I’ll be taking care of this. I wouldn’t want to trouble you with the responsibility.” Trapjaw’s smirk turned downwards and he rose from his seat. “And I have orders.”

“Oh, do you?” Trapjaw stepped forward. “Everyone thinks they can run over me, huh? Force Captains are one thing. But some grunt who barely looks like she graduated from the Academy? Am I supposed to listen to you?”

“You should,” a dark voice stole the air from the room, “if she speaks with my authority.” Lonnie froze as a spindly hand rested on her shoulder. She turned her head and found white eyes considering her pleasantly from behind a red mask. It was not Shadow Weaver’s sudden appearance that disturbed her, she’d become numb to that by being part of Adora’s squad, it was how dry the woman was.

Even where her sleeve touched Lonnie’s soaked poncho, the water seemed repulsed by the sorceress. She couldn’t blame it.

“Shadow Weaver,” Warden Trapjaw nodded, “I didn’t realize…”

“And now you do,” Shadow Weaver replied, “ Lord Hordak has ordered the child to be ready and able to fight in precisely nine days. Or eight and half by this point, I suppose. I intend to see his wishes carried out…as we all do.”

“Lord Hordak said no interference,” Trapjaw said, glaring at Lonnie, “Catra-”

“Was given permission to send a squadmate that would oversee the boy’s care,” Shadow Weaver cut in, “a weight off your shoulders, Warden, so you may choose the perfect opponent with no one to make…  _ insinuations  _ of interference on your own part. Now, where is the boy?” Trapjaw sulked silently.

“ **Where, Warden?”** Lonnie winced as the fingers on her shoulder tightened and a whisper, vaguely familiar and unsettling, tickled her ear. The Warden tensed and his namesake jaw worked like a rusty backhoe as he spoke.

“Level 19,” he croaked, “Cell 82.” His jaw unclenched and his hand shot up to rub at his neck. His eyes seethed with hatred but he said no more. “I see how it is. I’ll tell my crew you’re allowed to be here, trooper…”

“This ‘trooper’ has a name, Warden. She is Lonnie,” Shadow Weaver’s hand moved up to fix one of her braids. Lonnie tried not to shift away from the touch. “A fine soldier from Barracks 45.”

_ This fine soldier would give anything to be back in Barracks 45 right now.  _ Trapjaw picked up a plastic clicker and keyed something into it. He handed it Lonnie and grunted at Shadow Weaver.

“That’ll get her to the cell and back. No questions asked.”

“She will be training the boy as well,” Shadow Weaver turned to Lonnie as Trapjaw bit down his protests, “do try to be reasonable about the hours, my dear. The Warden needs sleep like everyone else.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Lonnie flushed at how loudly she said it. No one had the guts to make fun while Shadow Weaver was in the room. Shadow Weaver led her out and over to the docking station. “Are…you…going to accompany me to see the prisoner, ma’am?”

“I did not plan on it,” Lonnie tried not to show her relief visibly, “my purpose here was exactly as I’ve described; to see Lord Hordak’s orders carried out. But that applies to me as well. I will not be interacting with the child until his trials are complete. In any case, I have more pressing matters to attend.”  _ Unlike me, huh? Lonnie’s agenda is always free and clear.  _ Lonnie thought bitterly. “But, if there are any issues do not hesitate to seek me out, my dear.” Shadow Weaver stared at her and Lonnie suffered silently. “I must say, I  _ do _ wish Adora had chosen you as her confidante, Lonnie. You are the Horde’s image of a model soldier. Surely a much better friend than Catra.”

“Adora made her choice,” Lonnie said. She awaited what was certain to be a very sad death. She got off with a murderous glare that vanished in an instant.

“Make no mistake, dear. Adora is not lost to us,” she whispered, her eyes crawled over the tunic in Lonnie’s hands, “there is much yet we can do to save her from herself.” Lonnie’s teeth started hurting from pressing together. “I may come to you to ask after the boy’s progress. Please, do let me know if anything… peculiar happens.”

“Peculiar. Got it, ma’am,” Lonnie saluted again, “I will do that.” She knew her wording made her sound stiff and robotic, but she couldn’t help it. Shadow Weaver had an uncanny way of making every exchange you shared feel like a chess move in a game you were already losing. The shadowy woman stared at the tunic for another moment, secrets glittering behind her eyes that Lonnie had no interest in uncovering. Then she turned and floated off without another word.

Lonnie found a great comfort in the loud, buzzing engine of the prison-barge as it dipped down towards Level 19. Past four more control rooms on the main spire and tucked away on what her innate sense of direction told her was the Northern facing curve of the prison. She found the 80s section and worked backward from 89. On her way, she passed a shirtless man doing sit-ups, glaring unrelenting at the ceiling. She saw a bald woman meditating quietly in her cell. A huge Tauranian with one horn missing paced in a cell that was far too small for him to be comfortable.

Any one of them could be the kid’s opponent in a battle for their freedom. Some of these prisoners had been incarcerated since before Lonnie was born, left to rot for somehow defying Lord Hordak. Or for failing in their duties. The full weight of her ‘mission’ crushed down on her. These would be the worst eight-and-a-half days of her life, bar none.

“I  _ really _ hate you, Catra,” she muttered. She pulled to a stop in front of cell 82 and stared. As far as she remembered, the light-grid cells shocked you something fierce if you pushed on them too hard. She’d done that on a dare once when she was sixteen. Her left hand was numb for a full day of sloppy training.

But there was a small figure in Cell 82 shoving both palms against the green light, adding pressure til it turned a harsh red before yanking them back. Not in pain, but playfully, his eyes sparkling at the strange streams of light that seemed to erupt from his palms. She banked towards it and the figure froze, then darted underneath the meager, chained-into-the wall cot that took up a third of the cell’s square footage.

“Great start,” she grumbled. The barge docked into the cell entryway and a click from her key turned the shield off with a hum. She entered slowly, tossing her poncho over her left shoulder to free up a fist. “Alright, little man, come out right now, and do it  _ real  _ slow.”

The boy, pressed almost out of sight, burped loudly in response.

“I can see you there,” she said, “come on.” There was no movement. “Right now!” The boy made a muffled noise and peeked around the cot. Lonnie stared, struck dumb. The resemblance, while not perfect, was enough to be uncanny. He was smaller than Adora had been at ten, for sure, but the facial structure was a near perfect match.

“Hi?” He asked. His voice was high-pitched, unsurprising for a boy his age, but he was cautious in a way that seemed strangely mature. 

“Hi,” Lonnie said back, thrown off her balance momentarily, “you’re name’s…Adam, right?” The boy cocked his head and then nodded slowly, pointing at himself.

“Adam,” he pointed at her, “ah?”

“Lonnie,” Lonnie said, “and just so you know, I didn’t ask for this. Ok?”

“L…La..la-la,” the boy said, squinting, “l-la-lawn…eeeeee?”

“Lon-Eee,” she said, throwing her poncho’s hood back and tugging at a braid of her hair. 

“Geez, kid, do you even know where you are? Or what’s gonna happen to you?” The boy stared at her, his little face pinched with thought. 

Lonnie suddenly felt a need to break into loud, furious laughter. She had to teach him to fight for his life, and his first lesson so far was how to pronounce her name. Even better, he wasn’t doing well at it.

“Lllllll,” his tongue stuck out, “Llllll. On-on. Eeee. Llll-on-eeee.”

“Catra owes me big time for this,” she muttered. The boy gasped.

“Ca-tra? Catra!” He grinned and jumped out of hiding. He looked behind her, face falling, then turning suspicious. “Catra?”

“No,” Lonnie growled, “Catra isn’t here.”

“Catra?” Lonnie stomped her foot and the boy went scurrying back into hiding.

“No! N-O. There’s NO Catra here! She left you. And now I gotta look after you!”

“No?” The boy asked, frowning as he peeked over the edge of the cot. He rested his chin on his hands. “Ca-tra.”

“Oh, think you’ve got it bad?” Lonnie growled. She almost launched into a tirade of her own bad luck, but remembered where she was and what this little boy’s future had in store for him. “Forget it. I’m gonna bring you food and… wait a minute. Here. Recognize this?” She produced the tunic from her poncho.

The kid’s eyes lit up like the Fright Zone highrise at night. He grinned and hopped forward snatching his clothing back. He donned it at once, humming with delight as he fidgeted with the teeth on the front and threaded his long hair out to spill over his chest in two loose fronds. He jumped in place, giggling when the bones on it clinked together.

He paused, sniffed the hood and made a pleased noise before sneezing loudly.

“‘Cool. Thank you,’” Lonnie grumbled, dusting her pants.

“Ah?” The boy looked up a smile on his face and sudden trust shimmering in his cornflower-blue eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Thhh,” he tried. His eyes squeezed shut. “Th-ak? Thaa-ak?”

“You?” She tried, a little intrigued.

“You.” He repeated grinning. “Tha-ank you?”

“Like you even know what it means,” Lonnie said.

“Llll-oon-eee?”

“YES,” she groaned, raising her voice, “my name is Lonnie! Lonnie-Lonnie-Lonnie! Two syllables!” The boy crouched back but didn’t run this time. Lonnie slumped to sit on the cot, face going into her hands. “This is the single dumbest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life and I’ve only just started, plus I’ve done some  _ really  _ stupid things!” Adam had found the supplement bar in the meantime and fell on it like a rabid wolf on a wounded deer. “Hey! Slow down.”

To her amazement he paused, nodded, and began to eat slowly, watching her for approval the whole time. She rested her chin in her hand and looked him over.

“You remember me, kid?” The boy hummed curiously around a mouthful of food. Lonnie mimed getting bopped on the noggin. “You hit me on the head? Or that big version of you did? Catra’s sure you two are different.” Adam shook his head and shrugged but a moment later froze, thoughts blinking across his eyes strangely. He backed up, death-grip on his food, eyes suddenly wary.

“Oh,” Lonnie leaned forward, “you do, huh? Y’know, I got a bruise here still and I feel it everytime I wash my hair.” She settled down and shook her head. “Forget it. I don’t care. You got a lot worse than a bump on the head coming your way.” She rubbed at her eyes, fantasizing about sleep. “Still got half a day left. Gotta use it. No point not to. You done?”

He was in fact done eating and gave a little hiccup from eating so quickly. Lonnie stood and pointed outside. Adam hesitated and she snapped her fingers twice and pointed at herself.

“Get this,” she snapped, “I am your  **boss** . I say do something? Do it.” She pointed at herself. “Boss.” Adam’s face scrunched up and he shook his head, pointing at her.

“Lonn-ie,” he said.

“Boss,” Lonnie said, then pointed at her ear, “you ‘listen’ to your boss. Got it?”

“Lonn-ie,” Adam was laser-focused on her and pulled at the big ears hidden in the depths of his blonde hair, “b-osss.”

“Good... I think.” She pointed outside. “Go.” Adam went, slowly and with the greatest reservation. The barge detached and he clung to the railing with a gasp of fright. As it raced upward his fear vanished and his face turned up into the air as it rushed down on him, laughing uproariously.

“Probably the first person who ever laughed in here, kid,” Lonnie yelled over the noise. They returned to the main bridge in short order, Lonnie sacrificing her dignity and taking Adam by the hand. The boy didn’t mind, in fact, he seemed to like that quite a bit. He kept squeezing her palm, testing his grip and giggling to himself as he hopped a step forward to keep up with her longer legs.

“Careful with that thing,” the trooper from earlier said as they left, “little monster is more trouble than he looks.”

“Believe me,” Lonnie mumbled, “I know.” She stopped to pull up her hood and arrange her poncho. She turned suddenly as Adam reclaimed his hand, but found he wasn’t seemingly interested in running off. He stared up at her hopefully, donning his hood and adjusting his tunic like she had. He grinned.

“Boss,” he said, “Lonnie.” He frowned back at the trooper they’d passed. “Mmm-on….m-mon-ster?”

“Don’t think about it, kid,” Lonnie sighed, “you got enough to worry about. Come on. Training time.” She strode forward, the child trailing behind her, out into the rainy avenues of the Fright Zone. It was an interesting trip back towards the familiar neighborhood of the South-East Wing. Every soldier she passed paused to observe the kid. Not all of them with contempt.

“What’s that thing he’s wearing?” A patrolman asked at one corner.

“How should I know?” Lonnie grunted, quickening her step.

“Hi!” Adam chirped as he was pulled along. “Bye!”

“You little weirdo,” Lonnie grumbled, “come on!” A few minutes later they found a spider-bot of medium size carefully maneuvering along the wall to avoid an open patch of rain-slicked pavement. Adam yelped and pressed his face against Lonnie’s leg.

“Get off me!” Lonnie shook him free, “That thing won’t hurt you. It’s just a bot.” The bot swiveled its square eye at them and scanned them briefly before going on its way. Adam watched it go and then tried to follow, fascination outweighing his terror. Lonnie yanked him back. “You are  _ killing  _ me. Just keep walking.”

Lonnie left him standing in the main corridor. He was outside the old training room she and her squad used before they’d been given Senior-Cadet access to the battle-sims. She peered around the rubber matted room that had been a huge part of her world, once upon a time. Some of the motivational posters she remembered were still stuck to the walls, urging their readers to ‘Work through the Pain! You Owe the Horde Everything!’ and so on. She flicked on the light, stared at herself in the room-length mirror on one wall. She blew a puff of dust off the nearest weapons rack and marched back through the locker-room foyer.

“Hey!” She yelled. The kid didn’t hear her, he was too busy finding the largest puddle and leaping into it with both feet. He giggled at the splash and ooohed over the water droplets clinging along his bare arms. “We’re not here to play with water, kid! Get inside!”

Adam obeyed; pausing in the doorway to marvel at everything he saw within, Lonnie urged him forward by the shoulder. 

“Ok,” Lonnie gestured him into the practice room, “let’s get started…somehow. So-would you please focus!?” She ground out the words as Adam ran over to the mirror and stared at himself. He snickered, made faces, and stuck out his tongue.

“Nyah!” He turned. “Lonnie…er…boss!” He gestured at the mirror, clearly eager to share his discovery. Lonnie stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles. She pointed at the ground in front of her, tapping her foot impatiently.

Adam approached and stood in front of her.

“Listen up,” Lonnie said, gesturing to the room, “you’re gonna be spending a lot of time in here over the next few days. You have to fight.” She made a fist. “Fight. Fight for your  _ life _ . Eight days. You got that? Fight.” Adam made a fist and looked at it. “Fight!”

To prove her point Lonnie punched the air by his ear once, a rapid jab that the boy barely had time to react to. He stumbled away.

“B-boss?” Adam offered, eyes lighting up in fear. Lonnie snarled.

“No. None of that! Come on, now, I know you’re not so helpless. You were fighting everybody a few days ago. No more playing games, we gotta train! Come on!” She surged forward, throwing another punch that missed on purpose. Adam hurled himself backwards, face narrowing in betrayal. “Make a fist! Defend yourself!” Lonnie felt the impossibility of her task bearing down on her brain. Eight  _ days.  _ She had to do this for eight days.

“S-stop!” Adam yelped as Lonnie advanced. He darted to her right, she caught him by the tunic and shoved him back into the center of the room. He lost his footing, boots still unfamiliar to him, and landed on his backside. A few tears, of surprise or humiliation, squeezed out of his eyes when he glared at her. “Stop!”

_ He doesn’t get it. He never will, at this rate. If we can’t even communicate, he’s going into that ring without a prayer. Why am I doing this?  _ An image suddenly cropped up in her mind. One of the boy in a fighter’s ring, his weapon of choice unselected, begging for someone to bring him Catra. His opponent, whoever they’d be, would have their chance at freedom dangling right in front of them like fruit on the vine. 

_ He won’t even get it. Why it's happening to him.  _

“Stop?” Lonnie snapped. “Stop!? If I was your opponent you’d be  _ dead!  _ Dead? You understand  _ that _ ?” She drew a thumb across her neck. “Dead. D-E-A-D. Now make and fist and  _ fight me!”  _

Adam scrambled to his feet and lunged for the nearest weapon rack. Lonnie growled.

“Uh-uh! We are not even close to using equipment yet!” She stomped forward and reared back as the heavy plastic edge of a training sword arc by her side. “ **Put it back** !” She jabbed her finger at the rack. “ **Back** , right now!”

The boy hissed at her, struggling to bring the sword to bear.

“That’s not gonna work,” Lonnie said, “you think hissing is gonna scare anybody here? You can’t run, can’t hide. You gotta fight for real. No magic, no hiding!” She tugged at her ear. “Now listen! Listen to me!”

“Grrrrr,” Adam said, backing up with the plastic sword angled at her loosely. He was so weak he could barely lift the thing. She stepped forward, anticipated his wild swing, and stomped the moving blade under her boot.

“Owch!” He yelped, curling his fingers in as the hilt was ripped free of his hands. “Ow-ow-ow!” He turned pained, fearful eyes on her. She reached out to take the sword and he threw himself forward, snapping his teeth an inch from her fingers. Lonnie fell backwards into a boxing stance on reflex, then dropped it as the boy huddled away, stinging fingers trying to grip the sword.

“You’re doomed, kid,” Lonnie spat, “and I…I don’t want to waste my time if this doesn’t even matter so… Forget it. Forget this! I’m obviously not gonna make this work.” Lonnie whirled, storming out of the room without bothering to take her poncho. This wasn’t her problem, whatever Catra threatened, whatever Shadow Weaver expected. This was not her problem.

* * *

Adam watched Lonnie leave and felt a deep empty sense of guilt rush in as the fear drained away. She’d  _ attacked  _ him! Why was she so mad at him all the sudden? Maybe because he’d been playing in the rain puddles? Or in the mirror?

**Beware…**

Adam growled quietly. The Other One had been no help during all that.

**…I…cannot…react…as…quickly…**

“Hmmmpf!” Adam’s lip quivered. He missed Catra. He wanted to see Catra.

**…you…cannot…trust…her**

“Rrrrgh!” He was getting so sick of hearing that.

**You cannot trust any of them.**

Adam slapped the sword against the matted floor once. Then twice. Then he was standing, grunting, hammering the weapon clumsily into the ground. Why was Catra gone? What hadn’t he done right? Why was everyone treating him like…like  _ this _ ?

“Ca-tra,” he mumbled sadly, sniffling a little. He wanted his friend back. Instead he was stuck with ‘Lonnie’ or ‘Boss’ or whatever the lady with brown hair wanted to be called. The door opened to the room and Adam resolutely did not look up. He’d really wallop her with the sword if she tried to hit him again.

“That’s him?” A stranger’s voice asked. He glanced up out of reflex. A man and woman stood in the room. They wore gray cargo-pants and heavy boots, the rest of their bodies were concealed in the thick black ponchos like Lonnie wore. They were shiny, oily black with rain as the man moved forward, silent as a ghost.

“Purple fur clothing. Yeah,” he growled, “that’s the little monster. Watch the door. This’ll be quick.” ‘Monster’. That word again. Adam blinked.

“Hi?” he offered.

“Geez,” the woman said, “maybe…he’s just a kid. They say he’s dead in eight days anyway. Come on. We get caught doing this, its Beast Island if we’re  _ lucky _ .”

“And if he slips out? Has some magic friends break him loose or something?” There was a movement under the man’s poncho, light caught off metal in his left hand as it emerged. He gripped a serrated knife with knuckle-whitening pressure and swept forward. His stubbly chin tensed with a furious grimace that showed off a few metal teeth.

“You remember a trooper with black-hair and green-eyes, freak? Her name is Hannah.” Rain water dripped from his hood and poncho and for a moment Adam thought it ran down his cheeks. Then he realized the foreboding man was crying and doing his best not to sob. “She’s…she still won’t wake up! They’re moving her out of our squadron. I’m never gonna see her again... and it’s  _ your fault!  _ Why’d you come here?! Why’d you attack us?! You freak. Magic  _ monster _ !”

“Hey,” the woman hissed, stepping around to stop him, “cool it with the yelling, man, you wanna get caught? Do it or let’s get out of here!” The man shoved her back, freeing up his knife arm. Adam felt a sensation like his guts coiling and brought the sword up as high as he could. They were going to hurt him. Why? What did he do wrong? Why was everyone trying to hurt him?!

“This one’s for you Han,” the man whispered as he approached, tears glistening, “I love you, babe. Come here, kid.” The door opened and the figures whirled, the woman drawing a knife of her own.

“Ugh,” Lonnie sighed as she stepped back into the room, “pride of the Horde right here. Look, kid, we’re stuck with each other and I…” Lonnie took in the scene. She glanced between Adam and the cloaked couple. Her olive-green eyes slowly narrowed, her teeth ground together. “Two people. You really weren’t brave enough to do this without  _ back-up?” _

“Just leave,” the man said, “get out. You’re one of us. You know what this thing is, he’s practically one of the Princesses.”

“Hey,” the woman stammered, “we…we uh didn’t know anybody was in here-”

“You two,” Lonnie’s voice was soft, dangerous, “you two scumbags couldn’t even work up the courage to fight a ten-year-old unless you had him outnumbered?”

“He deserves this,” the man shouted, “he deserves this for what he did!” He surged forward and screamed in Lonnie’s face. “You one of us? Or you like that Force Captain who wants to keep him as a pet?!”

**Adam!** Adam bit down a yelp as the Other One shouted, back in his mind all at once.  **Adam, listen! I cannot…defend…you…but…I…can help…look. Look with my eyes!**

“Huh?” Adam blinked and, in a moment of understanding shut his eyes, then opened them unto a world that  _ felt  _ different. Everything was sharper. Clearer. But the anxiousness…the tension in his heart kept cranking tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

“Listen,” Lonnie said, eyes flicking to the man’s knife as she backed away, palms raised, “I’m  **done** fighting for this kid, okay? You two do this, it'll be one less problem for me. And a mercy for him, honestly. But if you really want to see some payback, why don’t you just wait till his big fight? Trust me, he’s got  _ no chance. _ ”

A flash of hatred. Of betrayal. This was the Other One’s view of the world. Lonnie was no more worthy of trust than Catra. Than anybody. Adam felt the Other One’s overwhelming desire to defend him. His resolve in hating anything that was not Adam. Adam shivered. The Other One was  _ so  _ angry.

“That's what  _ I _ was trying to tell him,” the woman sighed. Adam looked at her. Her back was to him and the Other One directed his eyes around. The back of her left knee, the sword point, and the space to his left. Adam hesitated.

**Quickly. Do it quickly!** He raised the sword and jabbed hard at the back of her knee. The woman squawked and fell quicker than Adam expected. Her poncho slapped wetly as she fell, in another second she was rising, but the Other One’s eyes drew a line at the side of her head.

She made a ‘hurk’ sound as Adam brought down the training sword on her temple and slumped to the floor unconscious. The man turned, mouth forming the name ‘Azalea!” in a cry of horror that choked off as a muscular arm wrapped around his throat. Lonnie kicked the back of his knee and slammed him to the ground. She ripped back his hood and studied a scarred face twisted in agony.

“Hey, kid!” She called out. Adam blinked away the Other One’s eyesight and shook his head. He felt a little woozy. “Adam!” He looked up.

“Ah?” He asked. Lonnie gestured to the hood in her hand. “Oh!” He donned his hood, confused as to what she wanted but trying to be helpful.

“Someone help this child...” Lonnie groaned, “not  **your** hood.  **Her** hood!” She nodded at the woman. Adam pulled her hood back and frowned at the long purple bruise along her temple. He hadn’t meant to hit her so hard. If she’d just left him alone…

“I’ve seen your faces,” Lonnie growled to the scarred man, “I’ve seen ‘em and I’m gonna remember ‘em. If you idiots even  _ think  _ of looking for revenge again, you better believe I’m going to Shadow Weaver first, and then Lord Hordak!”

“You…he’s magic! He’s a freaking monster!”

“And you’re such a prize,” Lonnie crushed his face against the mat, “I’m letting you up and you’re getting your friend, then you’re leaving.  **Don’t** try me. We clear?” There was a growling, spitting noise from the man. He yelped as Lonnie pressed harder. “Clear!?”

“Clear!” 

Lonnie sprang back, taking his knife and directing Adam to do the same with the woman’s knife. The man limped forward, collected his friend and dragged her out, tears of fury streaming from his eyes. Lonnie slid the commandeered knife into a sheath on her boot.

All the movement had happened so quick that Adam didn’t have time to defend himself when Lonnie strode over and knelt down in front of him. But she didn’t yell or hit him or anything. She gently took the knife from his hand, his fingers gripping it so tight that it stung when she pried it loose.

A calloused palm touched his forehead and brought him back to the present. Lonnie smoothed his hair back. There was pain in her eyes.

“You ok, little man?” She asked. “That…that was pretty scary, huh?” She tried a smile. “But, hey. Turns out you can handle your business after all.” Her face fell. “Fight.” She said, nodding back towards the door. “You get it now, Adam? You gotta  _ fight. _ ”

“Fffff-ite.” Oh. Adam understood. Fight. He had to fight people. “Mmmm!” He had to do that  _ again?  _ He hated fighting! It was scary and he didn’t know what to do. Not like the Other One did. The Other One fought all the time, but he just…he just bit, and clawed, and growled, and hoped people would go away. The Other One always made them go away.

“Easy,” warm hands cupped his cheeks and soothed him, he touched his palm to one of Lonnie’s wrists, “easy. Don’t think too much. That’ll just confuse you.” She moved her hands to his shoulders, steadying him. “I’m gonna help you. I’m…I’m sorry I left you in here by yourself.”

“Sssss,” he hissed gently, “ssss-rrrr-eeee?”

“Sorry is…” Lonnie squeezed his shoulders and frowned, “sorry is…” she sat up and pointed at herself. “Lonnie’s fault. Sorry.” She pointed at him and shook her head. “Not Adam’s. Ok?”

“O-k.” He said. Then he smiled a little. So…he hadn’t done wrong? That was good to know. ‘Sorry’. He liked that. If only it wasn’t so difficult to say.

“Good,” Lonnie said, standing up, she pointed at the rack, “Now, can you go put that sword back for me?” Adam frowned at the weapon in his hand.

**Be careful.**

Maybe the Other One couldn’t trust Lonnie, but Adam could try. She’d said ‘sorry’. No one ever said ‘sorry’ to him before. He did as she directed and giggled at the big sigh of relief she heaved.

“There. Is. Hope.” She declared to the ceiling. “OKAY! That thing over there is a punching bag. We’re starting there. Gotta teach you about the basics at least. Good starting point. Make a fist.” He did. She used gentle touches to adjust his hand and when he looked at her she made a fist too. “This way you won’t break your thumb. Let’s get to work, Adam, I got a lot of training to put you through.”

_ Training.  _ There was a flash of gold light across his vision that made him want to sleep but he shook it off. Training. Why was that word familiar? He didn’t have time to think about it. Lonnie walked him through a great deal of ‘fight’ training that day. All about how to punch and how not to punch and how to use your body to punch harder. ‘Punch’. He understood that word by the end of the day.

When he tumbled into his cot, back in the strange, dark place where the big blue man had taken him, he didn’t even have the energy to feel sad about how lonely he was. He hoped Lonnie came back tomorrow. She seemed nice.

“Boss,” he said to himself as he drifted off, smiling.

* * *

Adora slipped the knife into its new home on the headboard sheath she’d installed behind her pillows. She smiled. Bow’s idea was brilliant. Now Brightmoon’s maids wouldn’t come away needing stitches every time they tried to fluff the pillows. She massaged her scalp a little and slipped into bed. Smiling up at the ceiling of her room.

She laughed at herself.  _ Her  _ room. She was finally thinking of this cavernous, soft-edged, room with a waterfall as  _ hers.  _ That was crazy. It was  _ progress _ . Outside she heard the soft hush of a guard’s cape approach her door. 

“Princess Adora?” A voice called to her. Adora winced at the title. She hadn’t progressed totally. The word ‘princess’ still conjured up images of tyrants, monsters, and the Horde’s propaganda. “Sorry to disturb you, but Her Majesty, Queen Angella, has ordered training for new guardsmen this night. Would it be inconvenient to you if we used the post across from your door?”   
“Uh,” Adora searched for an answer, overwhelmed by the idea that her convenience mattered so much. It was so strange having this much weight put on her opinions. “That’s fine!” She added, unsure what else to say. “Have a good night.”

“Understood, Princess, good evening.” The guard left quietly as she came. 

“Training,” she yawned, “training new guards…” a little flicker of gold light made her blink. “Wow. More tired than I thought. Seeing things.” She lay perfectly flat against her bed, a firmer, smaller cousin of the first bed she’d murdered by accident. Closer to the Fright Zone beds.

_ But not exactly like them.  _ She grew aware of a cold, empty spot by her feet.  _ Almost a whole day without thinking about Catra. Tripped at the finish-line, Adora.  _ She breathed out.  _ No. Remember what Bow’s been teaching you. It’s not wrong to miss people. And it’s not wrong to move on. _

__ __ “I really miss you, Catra,” she allowed herself to say as she drifted into sleep.

“Happy Fifteenth Birthday, my prince!” a man’s deep voice said. Adora drowned in her sheets momentarily, fingers grasping for a knife that wasn’t there. Because the headboard wasn’t there. Because her bed wasn’t there. Because she wasn’t even there in her room. She was lying on cold stone in a room lit by several high barred windows.

A battalion of dummies made from hay-stuffed cloth on wooden pegs occupied a dream obstacle course. Standing before it was a large man in strange armor. An orange uniform under green plate-mail. His face was calm and proudly defined.

“We’ve hopefully discussed this already, so none of this should surprise you,” he said with a big smile. Adora pressed her fingers into her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. A dream. A very weird dream. And yet the stone felt rough under foot and the air smelled like old sweat and stone. Real enough to make her sneeze. Adora was pretty sure you didn’t sneeze in your sleep.

“W-We haven’t,” Adora said after wiping her nose, “a-and-and I am. Very,  _ very  _ much surprised!”

The man didn’t respond verbally, but his face grew tense, concerned and his pleasant demeanor vanished. 

“Still calibrating, hold on...” He cleared his throat and donned a smile once more. “I’m sure the castle-staff has spoiled you rotten today, so it’s time for you to do a little work! With an arena like this, there’s plenty of fighting techniques we can try out safely, Prince Adam. ” Here the man had turned away and began to mumble, seemingly talking to someone other than Adora, though they were alone in this room. He turned back to her. “But try to contain your excitement! For now, let's start with a refresh of the basics, my prince.”

“Okay, I am  _ not _ who you think I am,” Adora said, “I’m not a prince!” The man nodded. Adora was thunderstruck when he actually responded to her words. 

“Of course,” he said, seeming to listen to her for the first time, “If you’d prefer I address you otherwise, that is always in your power, my liege. You must forgive me, I’m a recording of sorts, and I might be outdated.” Ok. Stranger and stranger. But maybe if she’d leaned into dream logic she’d find a way to wake herself up. “I have a list of over four-thousand names or titles, if that helps.”

“Adora,” Adora said. The man froze oddly.

“Apologies,” he sighed, “that is not one of the listed names. Try again?”

“Weird,” she said, “ok. She-Ra.” The man froze. The same way he had before. Exactly the same way he had before. Then he said, same tone and inflection, the same thing he had before.

“Apologies,” he sighed, “that is not one of the listed names. Try again?”

“Hey!” Adora whined. “Brain, what’s your problem now? Is this some kind of symbolic message you’re sending me? Fine. Um…uh…uh.” She chose the first thing that came to mind. “Princess?”

“Understood, Princess,” the man smiled, “are you ready to begin training?”

“Training? Is that what this is about? Too much training?” She paused. “Not enough?”

“Are you ready to begin training?”

“No!” Adora stomped her foot. “I want to sleep normally!”

“Very well,” the man’s smile didn’t falter, “another time. Tomorrow is a new day, princess, I hope you sleep well.” The man, the room, and the dreamscape faded. For an instance, out of the corner of her eye, Adora caught the sight of what looked like a small figure in hood watching from the sidelines. She blinked again, and was staring at the ceiling of her room.

“Ok,” she said to herself, “just a dream. A dream.” But most dreams didn’t leave the sensation on the stone floor under your bare feet or leave a smell lingering in your nose. Adora rolled over and stuffed her face into her pillow. “Just a dream.” 

Three seconds later she sat on the edge of her bed and donned her boots. As she put her hair into a ponytail she mumbled to herself. 

“You’re being crazy. You're being  _ crazy  _ Adora. It’s just a dream. Ok. Deep-breaths. Calming thoughts. Go to sleep.” Her sheer determination put her back into slumber with military precision. 

“Happy Fifteenth Birthday, my prince,” the dream-warrior said pleasantly. He launched into his speech, interruption included. Adora found her hair and boots in the same order she’d left them. She found the man standing at attention, breathing evenly and only giving away that he wasn’t a statue by the slight twitch of his mustache. 

Adora stepped by him, feeling disoriented with how real the movements felt. Normally dream-movement was swimming through a heavy current or floating while your body pantomimed. This was...real. She felt the tongue of her boot scrape on her bare ankle as the sole of her foot felt the pressure of the stone floor, uniformly even. 

_ Screaming. When I’ve yelled in dreams before I’ve made weird scratchy noises. Let’s see... _

“Hello!” She yelled and turned at a little gasp from her left. She turned, finding nothing in the room’s shadows. 

“Hello, my prince,” the dream warrior said, staring at the place she’d been standing, “are you ready to begin training?” Adora moved back into place. 

“What kind of training?” She asked, not expecting an answer. She backed away with a cluck of surprise as a weapon rack materialized before her. There were shields, swords, and maces. Too few to fill the racks, which displayed the kind of holders used to store pole-arms, bows, and more archaic instruments of war. 

“We could begin work on the longsword, my prince-”

“Princess,” Adora cut in, “ah, what’s even the point of this, Adora?”

“We could begin with work on the longsword, Princess,” the man said, unperturbed, “if it please you?” 

“O-ok,” Adora said, “let’s start.” The man stood there. “Activate? Begin training! Hey. Let’s do this.” 

“Please,” the man said, “pick up a sword to begin training.” 

“Well,” Adora flushed suddenly as she pulled a longsword from the rack, “you didn’t  _ say _ to do that…”

The longsword’s weight was as real as everything else. The leather grip pulled her calloused palms, the metal parted air with a satisfying woosh as she swung it in a practice arc. The man moved in her periphery, a longsword materialized in his hands and offered a short, formal bow to her that he held until Adora, uncertainly, bowed back. 

“Even here,” the man said, “we respect the rules of sparring.” His longsword rose in both hands, making an acute angle over his helmet. 

“Begin!” The man yelled, then he was on her. The shaking impact of their blades meeting sent a very real numbness coursing up her wrists. Instincts took over and she backed away, distracted by the scuffing of sand between her leather soles and the floor. The dream-warrior’s longsword shimmered in the daylight as it flashed an inch from her face. 

She saw the opening lunged and gasped in horror as the dream-warrior’s stomach offered resistance as the blade went through it. She stumbled back, relieved when the realism of her dream did not include any kind of damage to the body. 

“Point to you, princess,” the man smiled, “well struck.” Adora smiled, enjoying the praise more than she thought she would. 

“Thanks,” she said, adopting a new stance. Her blood was pumping in a way too believable for a dream. But her adrenaline was up and she had always enjoyed sparring. 

They met again, swords missing each other and Adora laughing as she retreated a step. They passed each other on guard, switching their stances to counter the other. Then, with a soundless lunge, the dream-warrior backed her into a dummy. Adora ducked, heard the sound of cloth and hay tearing under the longsword, and rose to cut the man across his unprotected side. 

“Point two to you, princess,” he said, “well struck.” 

“Hah. Was there any doubt?” Adora beamed. “It’s my dream after all.” She stumbled away from a sudden swipe and rolled to the side when the sword point came down to click against the stones where she’d been. Adora kicked the man’s fingers and the blade scattered away, she rose, skewering him harmlessly once more. 

The man smiled. 

“Three points to you, princess,” he said, “and none for me. Very well done.” Adora twirled her weapon confidently, nodding at his abandoned sword. 

“Best two out of three?” she offered. The man raised his right hand, middle and index finger pressed together and raised towards her. “Huh?” There was long pause. Adora mimicked him. 

“Even here,” he said, “we respect the rules of sparring. I cede this match to you, princess.”

“Cool,” Adora said, “now let’s go again!”

“Apologies,” he said, “but I have ceded the match and our session is over.” Adora blinked.

“Hang on,” she said, “I want to train again. Let’s try with the shield.”   
“We’ll spar another day,” the dream-warrior smiled, “it is important you balance work with rest, princess.”

“But…” Adora went quiet as the man’s face shifted into a new expression. He looked very sad for a minute and then turned his head to the right, speaking rapidly to someone. As he stepped forward, the image of him went softer, like he was a ghost fading away.

“A moment,” he said, then turned to Adora, “guardsman, I know this has been a strange experience. And I want to be clear how grateful I am that you agreed to test this...new magic.”

“New magic?” Adora’s neck-hairs began to stand up with alarming realness. 

“These have been trying times. Times when these  _ experiments _ of ours have seemed like the last thing holding us together. And times they’ve felt like the most...useless thing in the world. So much uncertainty. I hope hearing this from your Captain does not disturb you unnecessarily, but you’ve all stood by me through this chaos. I have to appreciate that. Your loyalty.”

Adora said nothing, enraptured by the strange history spilling from the man’s mouth. He pressed his fist to forehead in a salute. 

“I am proud to stand with you,” he said, voice quieting in his emotion, “we defenders of the Secrets of Castle Grayskull.”

“Castle Gray…” shock numbed her voice, spreading down from her throat and making her stomach turn icy. “Did you say ‘Castle’ Grayskull? Who are you? What is this?!”

“We’ve two more trial runs for this training spell,” the man said, “but we’ll discuss that more when you wake up.” 

Adora lurched up from her dream, chest heaving with her shock. There was the full-body bitter taste of disappointment that came from realizing you’d been dreaming. She pushed through it, too awake to even consider sleeping. 

“Glimmer,” she breathed to herself, “gotta tell Glimmer. Tell somebody!” She met the floor stomach first as the sheets snaked between her ankles, but she was on her feet in an instant, glad for the boots around her bare feet even as they grew muggy. “Gotta tell Glimmer!”

She stormed into the hallway, the poor guard-in-training cawing at her in surprise and then shifting in place nervously as she tried to figure out if she should follow or stay at her post. Adora didn’t stop to check. She found the door to Glimmer’s room and pushed through, heedless of the time of night. 

“Glimmer!” She yelled up at the hanging bed. A loud snore was her only answer. Glimmer could sleep deeper than Adora had thought, but she was determined. She took a run at the nearest wall, clapped her boots against it three steps vertically and shoved herself off of it to grab the edge of the lowest step that ascended Princess of Bright Moon’s nest of pillows. 

“Glimmer,” she grunted as she pulled herself up by her fingers, “Glimmer, wake  _ up!”  _ Her friend snored away quite peacefully. Adora hopped the last few steps and kneeled next to a lump of breathing blankets. 

“Glimmer!”

“Ah..ah! I wasn’t sneaking out to a Horde ambush!” Glimmer shot up, choking off her last snore, “It was Bow’s idea! I...what?” She blinked around her room and finally settled on Adora. “Adora-”

“I had a dream!” Adora said, lowering her voice as she became aware of how late it was. “A really,  _ really  _ weird dream!”

“Adora,” Glimmer said, pink eyes focusing with a look of alert annoyance, “you woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me about a dream… this isn’t really happening, right?” She flopped back onto her mattress. “I have a  _ long-form _ letter to write to Sweet Bee tomorrow to get her to join the Princess Alliance.”

“But...but Castle Grayskull!”

“Is this about She-Ra? Adora, you might just be stressed from our missions...” Glimmer’s eyes slipped closed. Adora grabbed the sides of her head and shook her hard. “Hey! Quit it! What?!” 

“This wasn’t just a dream! I was wearing my boots in it! And, and... I think I know what ‘Grayskull’ is!” Glimmer held a glare at her friend for a pause, then vanished in a snap of ozone and sparkles. “Wait, Glimmer!” She’d needn’t have panicked. The cranky Princess returned an instant later, Bow, in a fetal curl around one of Glimmer’s stuffed animals, under her left hand. 

“Good morning, Glimmer,” Bow yawned, “good morning, Adora...ah!” Bow shot upwards, arms pinwheeling to keep balanced on the crowded bed. The stuffed animal spun sadly to the floor. “Kowl! Noooooooo!”

“Shhhhush!” Glimmer hissed. She turned her exhausted face towards Adora. “If I gotta listen to this, so do you. Adora?” Adora launched into a rapid explanation, breathless and back-tracking through her bizarre dream. Glimmer raised a palm. “Ok...new magic? A dream that felt real? ‘Castle’ Grayskull?” Glimmer shook her head. “Adora, it was a dream, alright? Dreams don’t make sense.” 

“But...but what if there  _ is _ a Castle Grayskull? Maybe there’s somewhere on Etheria I can learn more about She-Ra! And they said something about their enemies!” Glimmer began to fade.

“Dream enemies, maybe?” she countered, her eyes struggling to stay open.

“And-and ‘protecting secrets!’” 

“Dream secrets?” Adora gave up on her, turning to Bow for help.

“Bow, is there a Castle Grayskull?” Bow was leaning forward, hazel eyes bleary.

“Um, maybe?” 

“Adora,” Glimmer sighed, “can this please please  _ please _ wait until tomorrow? I am begging you.”

“What if I forget it all?!” Adora scooched forward, her boots dragging across Glimmer’s delicate fabric sheets. Glimmer was suddenly awake again.

“Ah-ah-ah! No shoes on my bed!” Glimmer teleported her to the ground before appearing in her bad again, calling down to her like a sparrow in her tree. “Adora, I really don’t have time to fight you on this! I  _ need _ sleep tonight! And I...” Adora’s eyes grew big and shimmering, Glimmer looked a little guilty through her sleepy frustration. “Look. Maybe there’s something to this. Brightmoon’s library might have something on a ‘Castle’ Grayskull.” At the look of hope in Adora’s eyes Glimmer jabbed a finger at her. “Might, Adora! Might. Now if you’ll go back to bed…”   
“Could I go there now?” 

“N-Now?” Adora nodded rapidly. “If I say ‘yes’ can I go back to sleep?” Again, Adora nodded rapidly. “Be my guest.” Glimmer rolled her eyes at the rapid barrage of thank you’s she received and closed the door behind her friend when she dashed out. She sighed, teleported back to her bed, and was asleep before the sparkles around her finished vanishing. 

“Glimmer?” Bow whispered, “Can you get me back down to the floor, I’m…” Bow trailed off as the snoring began. Never one to upset his best friend’s precious sleep schedule, Bow scooted off the edge of the hanging bed and lost his balance. He shrieked like breaking glass and grabbed the edge of the bed, feeling the burn in his shoulders at once. 

“Glimmer!” He called. Glimmer snored on. He guessed she would likely not awake for -Bow turned and looked with horror on the nearby clock- another three hours. 


	13. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora searches for more information on She-Ra and her destiny, but the clues she finds paint a grim picture. While Adam takes a break from training, he meets someone new, and learns a new word. Shadow Weaver shows Lonnie exactly what Adam is up against.

“Two points to me,” the dream-warrior said, his mustache twitching with a little smile, “guard you legs, princess.” Adora stamped away the odd pins-and-needles sensation the man’s mace left in her right kneecap. She adjusted her grip on the mace in her right hand, hefting up the kite shield in her left hand.

The dream-warrior mimicked her, taking up a stance that put the edge of his shield level with his nose, letting only deep brown eyes peek out at her. On his shield a bronze eagle spread its wings defiantly as a royal coat of arms.

_Gotta remember that._

Adora rushed forward, using her shield as her lead attack. Their eagles crashed into each other like they were warring over territory. Her mace found his unprotected shoulder a second after her left thigh went numb, like it was going to sleep. The man shoved her onto her back with the forward press of his shield.

“Three points to me,” he said, “guard your-”

“Legs! I know!” Adora snapped, smacking her mace against the stone floor with a petulant ringing of metal. Maces had always felt so clumsy to her. “Urgh. Can we skip this one? Go on to trial three?” She’d had the dream twice since the first night, and this marked her second failure.

The dream-warrior stood silently, awaiting her to ‘respect the rules of sparring’. Adora grunted wordlessly and held up the submission sign, two fingers raised to point at her opponent. The dream-warrior smiled, a little too self-satisfied she thought, and wished her good night, better luck next time.

“Let’s go right now!” She insisted. The dream-warrior vanished after his surroundings did. Adora danced from foot to foot, punching at the empty air.

“Stupid maces! I’m never gonna be good enough to…argh! Take a deep breath.” She exhaled air like an industrial bellows. “We’ll work on it tomorrow.” She closed her eyes and when she opened them again she was laying in her bed again, in the dead of night at Bright Moon Castle. She slipped out of the sheets, hair and shoes already on, nodding to the bewildered guard at her doorway.

The nightwatch outside the library tower held back their questions as she bustled past them, up a spiral staircase into higher reaches of the turrets. Rows of empty bookshelves taunted her. It took her three minutes to find anything actually on the shelves. The reference section of the library offered her an army of uniform violet books, individual only in the year and letter on the spines. She grabbed a copy of the Etherian Almanac Letter G from over a decade earlier, then slumped onto the floor.

“Grayskull, Grayskull, Grayskull,” she mumbled to herself. Other than her quiet, hopeful chanting and the fwip-fwip-fwip of turning pages, the library was silent as a forgotten tomb. “Nothing. Not even a ‘Greyskull’.”

She elbowed the bookshelf in frustration then made an embarrassing squawk as it wobbled and bombarded her with a few Almanacs. One smacked her on the pompadour and fell open at her feet. She glanced at it out of the vaguest hope that destiny would show her the answer. Her eyes found the first listed word.

“Fishing Contest Incident: Turn of phrase originating here from an accident at the 87th Summer Big Reel Competition at Fandolin that resulted in casualties in the low hundreds. See related material ‘I Tell You It Was This Big: A Survivor’s Account.’” She groaned. “Thanks, library.” Adora picked up the Almanac and flipped through it a few pages.

“First Ones,” she said, “Civilization founded thousands of years before….blah, blah, blah…no other known information!” She dropped the book and buried her face in her hands. “Where do I even _begin_ looking for a ‘Castle Grayskull’?” She hugged her knees, resting her chin on her still tingling right kneecap.

“Who were you,” she asked the library, thinking of the dream-warrior, “Defender of the Secrets of Castle Grayskull…what secrets? Is it She-Ra?” She scooted along the floor to the far bookshelves, the ‘S’ section of the Almanacs, she plucked one and found her alter-ego. “She-Ra, also called ‘The She-Ra’, hero of multiple legends across Etherian culture. See ‘The Princess of Power: She-Ra Across History and Myth by George and Lance of the Whispering Woods.’” Adora snorted. Every referenced book she’d tried hunting down was gone. Bright Moon’s library was barren.

She flicked through the next few pages, perking up when she saw photographs of murals and paintings depicting the warrior-spirit she shared a destiny with. Her interest piqued as she realized some held First One’s writing, indecipherable to all but herself.

“She-Ra the Founder,” she read aloud, “we depict her here as she was when she arrived…and the rest is rubble,” she sighed. She leaned over the book, struggling to find some better lighting in the dark library tower. “She-Ra the Vict…orious I’m gonna guess. This statue is also rubble. Does it all have to be broken?” She flipped a page and huffed angrily. The last three pictures were the worst yet!

They’d been defaced, intentionally, the angular figure cracked, chipped with what must’ve been hammers, and carved over the proper words was more First One’s writing. She read it dejectedly, not getting her hopes up. The photograph made it a harder translation.

“Probably, ‘do it over, Sam, her feet still look weird…” she trailed off, horror touching her spine, “ ‘Death to the Tyrants…’.” She sat up squinting at the next image. “She-Ra the…that can’t be…”

 _Murderer._ Indicted the hieroglyphics.

“No,” Adora said, her breathing starting quicken, “this is a mistake She-Ra’s a hero! I’m not… _she’s_ not…” she looked at the last image, a mural scoured almost blank with vandalism. Carved across it, with jagged strokes that immortalized the hatred of the scribe.

“Remember Castle…” her fingers were trembling such that she was afraid she’d rip the pages, “Remember Castle Grayskull…She-Ra lied. She-Ra the King-Killer.” Adora breathed through the pressure constricting her lungs and flipped to the index page to find information on the pictures. “Ok. Ok. Breathe. Breathe. Devlan Ruins. Devlan. D. D. D.”

She pulled the most recent ‘D’ Almanac off it’s shelf, knocking two of it’s brethren to the floor without a backward glance.

“Devlan Ruins. ‘The Stone Rings of Devlan’ were-oh, no-no-no ‘were’?!-were a collection of First Ones ruins…dynamited by the Horde during the Occupation of Devlan.” She hissed through her teeth and hurled the book down the long aisle, her arms still burning from her dream-battle.

“Why?! Why can’t I just get some answers!” She walked slowly after the book, retrieving it and grimacing at the way the spine had been bent by her tantrum. “I can’t do anything right…” she descended the tower in a cloud of despair, pausing briefly at the bottom of the staircase, looking back up as if she’d see a ghost following her.

“Murderer. She-Ra... was a murderer?” she whispered, suddenly wishing to be back in her room, with a guard at her door. The night was chilly as she left, the first fingers of Autumn turning the moisture in the air almost wintery cold.

  
  


* * *

Adam growled a little at the sweaty, clingy lanks of blonde hair getting in his face.

“That tunic of yours is what’s making you warm, kid. I told you to leave it,” Lonnie rolled her eyes, then poked his side with the practice sword, “and you’re dead by the way.” Adam blinked then shook his head like a wet dog to clear the hair from his eyes.

“No,” he argued, then made a ‘T’ symbol awkwardly, one of his hands held a practice sword, “no!”

“Time-outs last thirty seconds,” Lonnie said, “and I gave you forty-five cuz I’m nice like that. Adam loses. Again.” Adam grumbled, then held up two fingers in the pose he’d seen the warriors in his dream do when they stopped fighting. Lonnie squinted at him. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Um?” Adam said. He bowed at the waist. Lonnie pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not Lord Hordak, kid, so please _stop_ bowing to me…it’s weird,” Lonnie shot him a glance, “what’s with you anyway? You’ve been kinda sucking at this today.” Adam cocked his head, too many new words hitting him at once.

**She…has noticed…**

He waited, frowning at the time it took the Other One to respond.

**…you…are…not…**

“You’re thinking really hard on this, huh?”

“Mmmm!”

**….fighting well.**

Adam let his sword drop and crossed his arms. He was trying. He’d been watching the dream-warriors fight and Lonnie had been teaching him so many new things. He’d wanted to get it right on his own. Maybe if he did things right he’d get to see Catra again. She’d been gone forever.

“Hey, don’t start getting mad now, little man,” Lonnie said, “we’ve got a lot of training still to do today.” Adam sat on the floor turning his back on her. “Adam… ugh, fine. It’s about lunch time anyways. I’m gonna go grab some food from the barracks. You coming?” She stepped around in front of him, pointing to the door. “Let’s go?”

“No,” Adam grumped. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to train anymore. He wanted to go back to sleeping in the same room as Catra. To go eat with Catra. To just be able to see Catra.

**You….must…focus!**

_Away!_ Adam thought at the Other One. _Away!_ Maybe he was obeyed or maybe the Other One was gone again, either way his head was filled with silence. Lonnie turned her palms up helplessly, looking at the ceiling for aid.

“Fine. Have your pout, kid, but you’ve got exactly til I’m back with the food to work it out. Cuz after we eat, we train.” Lonnie placed her weapon on the rack and whipped her poncho down from its peg. “I’m locking the door this time, Adam, so don’t try to wander off. I’ll be back quick. Ok?”

“Hmph!”

“Maybe you can sulk your opponent to death five days from now,” Lonnie muttered as she left. Adam pushed his hood back and snarled at the hair sticking to his cheeks, shoving it all to fall on one side. He took a look at himself in the mirror, blinking in surprise. He puffed up his face like a puffer fish.

“Hmmm,” he said curiously. Either he was seeing things or his face was…fuller. He lifted his hand up to his chin and became fascinated with his bare arm. That was fuller too. Curiosity taking hold, he scooted his tunic up and lifted his new white shirt a little. His belly wasn’t so flat anymore. He couldn’t so easily find the edges of his ribs. He cocked his head and remembered when Catra had helped him the first night that his stomach had hurt from all the food he ate.

His stomach was…growing? That seemed absurd. But then…nobody he’d seen around this place was as skinny as he’d been. He needed to start being more careful with his food. Catra and Lonnie were nice to share but they must have had no idea what going hungry was like.

He fixed his clothing and looked around the room, aware of the distant drumming of raindrops on the stone and metal outside the walls.

Mirrors. Soft flooring. Bright lights that came on at a gesture. He couldn’t have been away from the old gray castle for that long, but everything from that place felt like someone else's dream. He felt a cloud fall over his mind…his cub. He hadn’t seen his little green tiger cub in forever.

Where was he? Dead, probably, without Adam there to look after him. Adam pawed at the fur of his tunic, too thin, too lifeless to mimic the little warm body of his best friend. Maybe he’d never see his cub again…maybe he’d never see Catra again. He sniffled loudly and watched his reflection’s eyes mist up.

Hopefully Lonnie would come back soon. Loneliness felt the same here as it had in the gray castle and Adam still hated it.

The little beeping noise of the door made him squeak in surprise.

“Hey!” A voice called through the metal. “Sergeant, Blue-Crest! Sir, it’s not opening!” Adam blinked at the door. That wasn’t Lonnie. That wasn’t Catra either.

“Ah!” he whispered at the Other One. Silence. Adam scrambled to his feet and smacked his hands along the wall, where Lonnie gestured each day to turn the lights on. He growled as nothing happened then grinned triumphantly as his fingers touched a little plastic switch…maybe…yes! It worked! The lights faded.

He scuttled on all fours, like he had back in the castle, careful as his eyes adjusted to the light. By touch he found his practice sword. He huddled into the far corner, watching himself in the mirror until he was snuggled safely out of view between a set of tiny spear racks, peering between two hafts like the bars of a prison cell.

Heavy footsteps outside approached the door. It bleeped again.

“So it is, Cadet,” a rough bass voice rumbled, “how bout that? Bots do this some times, lock up old unused rooms by accident. Hang on.” Adam bit back a gasp as the door light turned green, the metal panel slid up, and the sound of rain became deafening. “You came in first again, didn’t you? Not enough being the fastest runner in the General Program?”

“But…I wanted to see if I could get here faster than normal. Like break a record,” the other voice countered, it was high-pitched and youthful but undercut with frustration, “stupid robots. Stupid doors.”

“Break a record,” the man chuckled, “barely ever been down this side of the Fright Zone and you’re already trying to break records. Well, are you going inside or you wanna keep joggin’ in the rain, Cadet?”

“N-no, sir!” Smaller feet rushed inside then squeaked and stumbled. The little voice gasped. “I’m ok!” The man made a sound that didn’t seem very impressed.

“You’re fellow Future Force Captains are lagging,” the man sighed, “Cadet, you have the room. I’m taking those slowpokes on an extra lap around the hall. Stay here, get in position. Turn these lights on for me, soldier.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” the little voice said eagerly, “can I-”

“Don’t touch the equipment.”

“But I was just-!”

“Cadet,” the man said with a little growl of warning.

Adam realized he’d been leaning out of his hiding spot in the silence that followed. The little voice spoke up, sullen and frustrated.

“Yes, sir, Sergeant Blue-Crest.”

“Touch those weapons and you won’t even be a Future Janitor, much less a Force Captain.” The heavy footsteps faded away and went silent as the door hissed shut. Adam almost emerged into the dark room, wondering if he was alone, when the little voice shot up.

“You’re a janitor!” There was rustling of material. “Ugh. Yuck! Wet ponchos are gross…where are the dumb lights?” There was a click and the world flashed into sight with a fluorescent buzz. Adam huddled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, he’d been watching so closely. As he blinked the spots away, he gasped softly as a figure turned around from the wall.

It had figured out the lights _so fast._ It stood now, black poncho like a shroud around its body and head. It raised its hands, as if to cast a mighty spell of arcane power, Adam cowered back, awe-struck as it grabbed two handfuls of black material and…wiggled in place.

“Come…on! Get offa me!” The figure hopped in place. “I hate! These dumb! Poncho-oooooo!” The imposing stranger’s white boots had caught the trail of the poncho and tripped them up. They lay quietly in a heap of black plastic on the floor.

“Man… I wish I knew bad words for stuff like this…” the lump shimmied.

A person emerged like a butterfly from a clingy black cocoon. Adam’s mouth fell open in shock. Not just a person… a child. Like him. He’d never, ever, ever even dreamed he’d meet somebody who was like he was… he thought he was the only one in the whole world.

His heart raced and he stood up in his hiding spot, hands finding the spear shafts on either side of his face. The stranger stood to their full height and Adam stared in wonder.

A proud looking little girl straightened up with an air of world-conquering ambitions. She fussed with her hair, a brilliant shade of copper which ended at her shoulders, for a second. It had been mussed-up by her poncho. She sneered, narrowed her russet eyes under some hawkish, cooper eyebrows and kicked the edge of the offending garment. Then, satisfied in her vengeance, she spun around to face the long mirror.

Adam turned his ear out towards her when she started humming whilst pushing her hair back from her face, wrestling a plastic hairband from her scalp. It was a kitschy shade of gold, worn with age, but she handled it like it was the crown of a sovereign kingdom. She slipped it into place, her widow’s peak displayed proudly on her forehead.

Her humming became a song, sung to herself as she looked over her appearance in the mirror.

“I fought with rebels one,” she bared her teeth, singing through them as she checked their pearly white-ness, “I di-dat juss fer fun.” She sucked her lips in and puffed her cheeks out, giggling a second later at the face she made. Adam’s covered his mouth to keep from snickering, absorbed in watching her. “So come on oooo-ver. War’s not oooo-ver.”

She lifted her right arm high, rolling up the right sleeve of her white shirt, like Adam’s save for red accents on the shoulder. She flexed a skinny arm and seemed very pleased with herself. She rolled her sleeve back down, resting her fists on either hip.

“So put your weapon next to miiine,” she sang a little louder, her voice cracking a little, “aim right on down the line.” Her eyes flickered right and she spun toward him, copper hair trailing like fire. Adam bit his cheek to keep from gasping and froze as he hid his face, but her eyes had landed on the punching bag. She grinned at it like a fox catching a rabbit.

“Thought you could sneak up on me, Princess?” She jogged in place and rushed forward. She scuffed to a halt and made a fist, like Lonnie had taught Adam too, then threw three quick jabs at it. The punching bag chain whined in surrender as it swung backwards, but the little red-haired girl was merciless.

“I fought with rebels two,” she sang, shouting the song with each punch, “I did that just for YOU!” She threw a kick that landed awkwardly and she hopped on foot, rubbing her shin. “Ow-ow ..your weapon next to mine...” she returned to her poncho.

“I fought with rebels three,” she snapped the poncho three times for emphasis, “I did that to keep us free. So put your weapon next to mine…” Adam hummed the cadence quietly to himself, entranced by it, “aim right on down the line.”

“…he won’t be back soon,” the girl whispered, Adam’s heart leapt as he thought, momentarily, she was addressing him, “if I just…real quick and put it right back.” She crept over to the sword rack, smiling at it like a birthday present. “Sooooo cool! I _love_ swords!”

She snatched the first weapon she could find, twirling it with a turn of both wrists. Adam felt a little self-conscious. She could sing, she knew how lights worked, and she even did swords better than him. Lonnie would probably like her. He resisted the overwhelming urge to crawl out and meet her. What if she was like Scorpia and Catra?

His stomach bubbled. But what if she was like everyone else. Like the ones who wanted to hurt him? His caution didn’t extend to his arms, which were bracing harder against the spear shafts he was hidden behind. He leaned forward, on his tip-toes, as the girl leveled her weapon at the punching bag.

“Queen Angella of Bright Moon,” the girl cried, “your tyranny ends today! There will be Freedom on Etheria from this moment forward! No more slavery! No more magic oily…ollygark… no more bossing everybody around!” She raised her sword over head, murder in her eyes as she looked at the petrified punching-bag. Adam leaned forward, and so did the spear rack. “I’m gonna stop you! Me! Force Captain Te-”

The crash was muted, having landed on the soft exercise matting of the floor, but Adam’s yell of surprise was quite loud. For that matter, so was the red-haired girl’s answering shriek of surprise, which she turned into a battle-cry at the last moment. She charged at him, sword held high for the strike.

“Aaaah!” Adam huddled amongst the scattered spears, covering his face. “Sssss-orrrr-eeee!” The girl stomped heavily to arrest her charge and backed away, heaving loud, startled breathes. Adam looked up out of one frightened cornflower-blue eye. She lowered her sword and blinked at him.

“Wha-?” she tried. She took him in completely. His long honey-blonde hair. His purple tunic. His half-hidden face. “Who are you?” She trailed off once more, looking between him and the door. “When did…?” She tried again. “Where did…?” This avenue of questioning wouldn’t happen either. She refocused and looked around him. Adam did as well.

A half-dozen spears lay like scattered match-sticks around them, hafts piled onto the wooden rack they’d sprung from when Adam knocked it over. Adam looked back up at her stunned face.

“…Hi?” He whispered. The girl’s face went gaunt with horror.

“J-janitor…I don’t... wanna be a janitor!” She sprinted back to the sword rack and stabbed the wall putting her weapon away. She turned and Adam shrank back at the determined snarl on her face. “Don’t just lay there! Get up!”

“Uh. Um!” Adam scrambled free of the spears, standing off to the side, fiddling with the teeth on his tunic. The girl chewed a fingernail, a common reaction judging by its nine uneven comrades, and nodded once to herself. She kicked all the spears away, Adam hoped over one as it rolled under him. She squatted and grabbed the wooden rack.

“Hey!” Adam yipped at being addressed. “Help me out here! This was your fault!” Adam didn’t understand her words but her instructions were obvious enough. He jumped over and crouched next to her. “Ok. On three. 1-2-3!” She lifted and groaned. “I said **on three**!”

“Ah,” Adam replied, “sss…orree?”

“Forget it,” the girl wheezed, “just lift!” They put all of their meager strength into it and Adam whooped in triumph as the rack rose and rattled back into place. “Not done. The spears! Put all of ‘em back where you they were _exactly!”_ She replaced one and Adam caught on. “No-no-no! Not upside down!” Adam caught on _now._

“Ha!” Adam chirped as the last of the six weapons slid home. The red-haired girl was panting, the beige skin of her face pink from all of this sudden action. She searched the room, rooted to the spot and hovering a fingernail by her mouth.

“Do you see any cameras in here? No?” She gave in and chewed her index fingernail. “Ooooo. Dang it! Why didn’t I just sit still and wait?” Adam placed a hand on her shoulder. She whipped his nose with her hair turning to look at him.

“Um…hi.” He grinned hopefully. His mouth shrank into a little triangle of fear as the girl’s eyebrows came together and her eyes stared into his soul. “…hi?”

“You almost got me in sooo much trouble!” She glanced down at his hiding place and growled when she saw his sword. “You’re *still* getting me in so much trouble!” She shoved his hand away and stepped back, crossing her arms and straightening up.

She was little, like him, but not _as_ little as him. She was perhaps three inches taller, but it felt like a mile with how she scowled down at Adam. She jabbed her finger at the sword.

“Put that back where you found it. Right now!” Adam gulped, nodding rapidly. He scooched down, reaching between the spears, bumping his forehead on one when the girl shouted. “And you better not knock those spears over again!”

“Sss-orry!” He gingerly retrieved his weapon and scurried over to the sword rack. Behind him, the red-haired girl had clasped her hands behind her back and puffed out her chest like an old-time general. She marched neatly, one boot in front of the other and loomed behind him. Adam put his weapon away carefully.

“Yeah,” she said, “that’s right. Now go stand there!” She shouted a little louder, clearly enjoying the power she was wielding. Adam obeyed. She was the ‘boss’ here. Like Lonnie was. It helped that she used lots of signs and gestures when she talked, and that she seemed to know more about how everything worked. Plus, she was taller. 

The girl marched forward; chin raised so high her hair hung away from her neck. She leaned forward and looked him over with one eye. She sniffed and then sneezed. Adam blushed and smelled himself…he smelled alright. Just like the purple goop Catra gave him.

“How’d you get lavender wash,” she asked, sounding a little hurt, “and how come you get to grow your hair that long? And wear special clothes?” Bold as she’d been all along, she ran her hand on his tunic. “Ewww. Is this fur? Are those teeth? How’d you…who gave these to you? No. _First_ tell me who you are.”

Adam looked off to the side, uncertain what she wanted from him. Not silence apparently. She drew herself up and squinted at him.

“You better tell me,” she said, jabbing a thumb at herself, “I’m a Future Force Captain. That means I get special training and I’m gonna be in charge. Cuz only the best Future Force Captain Cadets get to be Force Captains.” She poked him in the chest. “And. I. Am. The. Best.”

“Ah?” Adam asked. She turned as red as her hair.

“Just tell me your name,” she jumped up and down, “name! What is your-”

“Oh!” Adam smiled shyly, patting himself on the chest. “Adam!”

“A…Adam, huh?” The girl adopted her arch attitude all over again. “Ok, ‘Adam’, if that is your real name…” she glanced at the door and then at him. She whispered next time she spoke. “Look, you don’t say anything about me playing…I mean,” she coughed, “training with the sword. And I won’t tell Sgt. Blue-Crest you were in here.” She nodded. “That’s fair. Ok?”

“Ah?” The girl tugged at her copper hair in frustration.

“Do we have a deal?” She growled. Adam perked up, cupping a hand over his cheek.

“D-deal.” That word. Did she know Catra? Adam pointed at her. “Ah?”

“What?” She said. “Nevermind! Deal. So go.”

“Ah?” The girl spun him around by the shoulders and suddenly he was stumbling towards the door.

“Deal! Deal, you weird boy! So go! Get out of here before…”

The door slid open. Adam gulped. A blue-furred man with piercing yellow eyes observed him carefully. Behind him, nine children in black ponchos peered around his legs like curious little trash bags. Adam felt the girl press against his side as she stood next to him.

“Sir!” she yelled. Adam jolted as an elbow dug into his side. The girl was glaring at him and holding her right hand by her forehead. He mimicked her, or tried to, and held his forehead like he was checking for a fever. “We were…”

The man covered his face with one hand and held the other up. The girl went quiet immediately. The man pointed wordlessly back into the training room. The girl took Adam’s bicep in hand and led him to take up a position in front of the sword racks.

Adam watched the red-haired girl’s other hand fidget nervously at her side. On a chance he placed his hand in her palm. The girl shot him a glare and made to pull him away. Then she paused and looked with embarrassment at the locker room door. The other children were squeaking through, divesting themselves of their ponchos, the blue-furred man overseeing it.

The girl thought for a moment then closed her eyes and squeezed Adam’s hand so tight he thought she might bruise it. Still, he was a little sad when she took her hand back a second later to stand at attention.

“Alright,” the blue-furred man said, sweeping into the room with a tide of children, some human others decidedly not so, crowding his legs. They took up position behind him, looking doubled in numbers by the mirror. Adam gulped, feeling like he was looking down an army. The blue-furred man looked at the red-haired girl, a sort of resigned disappointment on his face.

“Teela,” he shook his head, “who is this?”

 _Tee-la._ Adam mouthed the name.

“He says…” the girl began, “his name is Adam, sir.” Adam pulled his hood up as all those eyes settled on him. One new person was fine but so many made him feel nervous. At least the red-haired girl, Teela, was still standing next to him. She made him feel just a little safer.

“And why is Adam in here?” The man asked. Teela opened her mouth to speak and considered the rack of swords. She straightened up and said proudly.

“Sir, I have no idea, sir!” A chorus of laughter rose from the children. It ended at a backwards look from the blue-furred man.

“Don’t give me that, Cadet,” the man sneered, “you were the only one in here.”

“He…he came in after you left, sir,” Teela swallowed a little as she spoke.

“She’s lying!” A boy with black hair shouted. “Sergeant, Teela always sounds like that when she lies!”

“I’m gonna throw you down the laundry chute, Denny!” Teela snapped at the lad, face twisting up fiercely. “How’d that sound? Cuz _that’s_ no lie!”

Everyone, Adam included, covered their ears when the man whistled sharply.

“You lying to me, Cadet Teela?” He asked in the cowed silence.

“I…I don’t know why he’s here, sir,” she hurried to say, “he wasn’t doing anything wrong or anything, just…hanging out.”

Someone whispered something in the group. Another someone snickered.

“Something to add, Cadet Leo?” A boy with _three eyes_ stepped forward and Adam was too busy staring to try to understand what he was saying.

“Sir,” the three-eyed child said, stifling laughter, “I said ‘maybe Teela kidnapped him so she could finally have a friend.’” The laughter rolled up again and Adam, not in on the joke, didn’t miss the way Teela’s eyes softened and how sadly she looked away.

“Leo,” the blue-furred man said, “laps. Now. Jon, you were the first one who laughed so you too.” The boys complained for a split-second. “Shut it. And leave those ponchos. Real Horde Troopers run through worse than rain. Double time!”

Teela looked no happier as the boys left. But she maintained a steel-spine posture as the blue-furred man fixed his sights on her once more.

“Cadet Teela,” he said, grave as the great lord Adam had met days before, “I am gonna ask you one more time. What is this? If I don’t feel completely satisfied you tell me the truth you are _done_ in Future Force Captains.”

“B-but, sarge, he didn’t even do anything!”

“Then I guess,” the man said, “he’s got nothing to worry about.” Teela looked at Adam and there was deep shock in her face that crumbled into misery.

“Sorry, Adam,” she whispered quickly. 

“Mm?” She’d said ‘Sorry’? What for? She looked away, suddenly seeming smaller.

“Ok, sir,” Teela mumbled, her authority a distant memory in Adam’s mind, “the truth is…”

“Adam,” Lonnie said as she rushed into the room, “did those two kids doing laps just come from…” she buried her face in her hands, “…I gotta stop leaving this room apparently.”

“Lonnie?” The big man said. “Whatcha doing here, Trooper?” Lonnie did the forehead-hand-thingy again and stood up straight.

“Sir,” she looked at the kids nearby, “I…I’m responsible for this kid. His name is Adam.”

“I know that much,” Blue-Crest said, then got a suspicious glint in his eye, “he wander off from you?” Adam heard Teela murmur like she’d be sick and wanted badly to hold her hand again.

“No, sir,” she said, “been in this room since I brought him earlier. Hasn’t left.”

The blue-furred man turned to glare at Teela.

“I…I was gonna tell you,” she said, shrugging and refusing to look at him, “sir, I just-”

“Do Force Captains lie?” The man asked harshly.

“Depends on the Force Captain,” Lonnie grumbled, then winced at the man’s glare.

“Teela?”

“No, sir.” Teela shook her head.

“We’ll deal with this later,” he said, “Lonnie, out in the hall with me, Trooper. I want to know what this is about.” They left Adam and Teela alone in the room.

“You shoulda told the truth!” A tall, maroon-skinned girl with spirally horns snapped. She shoved the other kids away, stomping over to them. She was bigger than Teela and meaner looking too. She loomed over Adam. “Hey, weirdo, you better not get us all in trouble, or else!”

“Ah?” Adam asked. He took a step back and then jumped back when the girl made a fist at him. The kids laughed again.

“Your little buddy’s a big fraidy baby, Teela,” the horned girl taunted, “what was his name? ‘Adam’?”

“A-dumb.” Someone jeered. The girl crowded him, then shoved him. He wasn’t ready and fell onto the mats. He began to scurry up but the girl shoved him again.

“Grrr!” He tried. The girl sputtered a laugh at him and shoved him down one handed. Teela appeared between them.

“Aww,” the horned girl cooed, “he *is* your friend, huh, Teela? That’s nice. That makes one, right? No. Not even one. Zero. You’ve got zero friends, Teela!”

“You’re gonna have zero teeth, Karina!” Teela pushed her hard with both hands but the bigger girl didn’t budge. Teela didn’t have as much luck when she was shoved and clattered backwards into the sword racks.

“Sure,” the horned-girl laughed, “hey, come here, Tee-loser. I wanna see if I can make you cry like last time.”

“I told you that was just sweat!”

The mean child advanced, Teela tried to stand but her shirt caught on the point of the nearest sword.

“Snap her stupid hairband! That’ll make her cry!” A girl yelled. Teela’s eyes went huge with fear. Her hands gripped her hairband like it was already in enemy hands. Her boots scuffed the mats as she tried to stand up.

“No! You leave me alone, Karina, or-or else!” The fear in her voice was enough for Adam to understand and he shoved down the venomous coldness of his own fear. They’d forgotten about him and that, he knew from training with Lonnie and the Other One and the dream-warriors, was his advantage. He stood and grabbed for a sword.

“Karina, look out!”One of the other children screamed. The horned-girl turned as Adam swung. His own muscles weren’t a fraction of the strength the Other One gave him days before but they didn’t need to be. The practice sword hit the girl’s nose. She dropped onto her behind, hands clutching her face.

“Adam?” Teela asked, bewildered. Adam took a stance, wobbling a little into place and turned on the crowd across the room. Fight. Fight. That was what they’d all wanted of him.

That was what he’d do.

“Rrrrrrrrrr-RAWR!” He thundered, voice shattering in a high cry. The kids moved back as one and Adam briefly caught sight of something in the mirror. It was a little creature, like the ones that hunted around the Grey Castle at night, the kind that the Other One chased away. A beast in purple fur, eyes killer-blue and hidden behind wild hair under a shadowy hood. Its teeth were bared in a snarl and its hand held a sword overhead…with blood on the blade!

“Ah!” Adam dropped his weapon and rushed to the horned-girl on the ground. He touched her hands and got kicked in the stomach for his trouble.

“Tha-aah-hah-that was a dirty trick!” The girl’s voice hiccupped. She tried to glare through her tears, one hand pressed to her bleeding nostrils. “You…you better-…ow! Ow-ow-ow!”

“Karina!” a tan human girl with black hair pressed free of the crowd and hugged her, “Karina, it’s ok. Don’t cry. Tilt your head back.”

“I’m nnnnn-ot,” the horned-girl sobbed. She buried her face into her friends shoulder, getting blood on her white shirt. The black-haired human didn’t care. She pressed her cheek to her friend’s scalp, unafraid of the spiraling horns and glared at Adam.

“You leave her alone! That wasn’t fair!”

“Yeah,” a child shouted from the crowd, “yeah that was cheap!”

“How’d you like it if someone hit you with a sword?”

“I bet he’s from Squad 90! They always take things too far!”

Adam turned to look at Teela for help understanding what was going on. He was heartbroken to find her watching him with a caution that hadn’t been there even when he’d surprised her earlier.

“Teela?” He asked.

“He’s WHAT?!” The whole room jumped except the two girls hugging in the middle of it all, focused on no-one but the other person they were comforting and being comforted by. “In there! WITH MY KIDS THIS WHOLE TIME?!” The man moved so fast through the door he ducked under it before it cleared the way. Lonnie was squeezing in behind him.

“Sir, he’s harmless! And I -oh for the love of…Adam!” Adam’s hands began to twist the teeth of his tunic as Lonnie rushed to stand before him. “Kiiid, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes!?”

“Karina,” the man was on one knee, voice strained, “stop tilting your head back, you’re getting blood down your throat. Sit up, Cadet, you ok?”

“Y-yes, s-sir.” The girl hiccupped.

“Course you are, you’re one of my kids. You’re tough. Maya, take her to the bathroom and just keep giving her towels. Don’t tilt her head back, hear me?” The black-haired girl nodded and did the forehead-touch. So did the girl with the bloody nose. “Good. Go to work, soldier.” He rose. “The rest of you outside, in formation. Yesterday!”

The Cadets all rushed to obey. Teela rose from the floor and side-stepped Adam.

“Teela?” he said quietly after her. The man called her name as well.

“You ok, soldier?” he asked. Teela nodded wordlessly, still a little dazed. “That’s my girl. Hey, we’re still gonna talk about you lying to me. Go on. Outside.” She left without even a look in Adam’s direction. Adam watched the door, jittery as his adrenaline left him, until a blue hand snapped its fingers in his face.

“You stay away from my kids,” the man snarled, “you little monster. Stay. Away!” ‘Monster’. He understood that now. Monster. He thought of how he’d looked in the mirror.

“Please,” Lonnie said, “Sarge, it’s my fault. Adam doesn’t know.”

“Oh, I’m not forgetting you!” He whirled, finger a centimeter from Lonnie’s nose. “Way beyond dangerous leaving something like this alone! He’s got magic to rival a Princess and you just mosey off to go grab lunch?”

“I locked the door!”

“Don’t,” he growled, “don’t even try defending yourself. This is a disgrace, Lonnie, to everything I ever taught you.”

“I am following _orders.”_

“Orders said this room at this time? Orders said leave the hostile alone while you go grab a bite?”

“You know they didn’t,” Lonnie’s face was trembling with emotion, “and its not my fault if one kid tries to push another one around-”

“That’s not a kid,” Adam shrank back as the man pointed at him. “That thing? Whatever it is, it is NOT like those kids outside. It never will be.” He glared at Adam. “You understand that? Stay away. They got a future. You?” The man looked at him with open disgust. “You got five days.” He turned on his heel. Adam looked at himself in the mirror.

“Mmmmm,” he mumbled, “mm-monster.”

So that was the reason Catra left.

That was the reason they all hated him.

“Oh,” he said, rubbing at a stray tear, “oh.”

As the door slid closed behind her old sergeant, Lonnie tried not to punch the nearest wall. She turned a glare ready for the kid and stopped short. Adam hadn’t moved. He was frozen in his spot, big eyes welling up with tears. Lonnie normally liked to believe she was a tough soldier who didn’t hesitate.

She blew air between her teeth and crossed her arms.

“Adam,” she said, “the sword.” Adam nodded sadly and retrieved his weapon, barely touching it as if it would burn him as he walked it back to the racks. “No Adam.”

“No?” he asked. She motioned him to the center of the room and got a sword of her own. His face scrunched up. “ _No_.”

“ _Yes_ , little man,” Lonnie said, “train. You feel sad? Train. You feel good? Train. You train and train and train. And you,” she gestured at him with her sword, “need training more than anybody in this place.” Adam looked at the door again and Lonnie poked him in the belly with her sword. He growled weakly at her. “You’re dead. Come on. Let’s focus.”

It was bitter work and Adam was moodier than usual through it, but Lonnie made him go through the paces all the same. When they’d finished for the day, and Adam had scarfed his latest supplement bar, Lonnie led him back to his cell. He went quietly and that disturbed her.

“Adam,” she said to him as she sat on the edge of his cot, “hey, you ok?”

“Monster,” he said, pointing at himself and then the room. “Catra…”

“Hey,” Lonnie tried a smile, “when I was little like you, I woulda _loved_ people being scared of me. Monsters aren’t so bad here, Adam… some of them run this place.” The boy shrugged and Lonnie sighed, then gave a little pat on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, kid, it’ll all seem farther away in the morning. Okay?” She stepped out onto the prison barge and brooded for a moment.

There was a burst of red lightning from the control console that sent her jumping backwards to the very railing of the barge.

“I do not need this right now,” she growled, grabbing the railing as the barge lurge downwards for a horrible second, “uh…hey! Anybody give me a hand?”

“ _Don’t be quite so loud, my dear,”_ the voice rose and fell in waves from the darkness surrounding the barge, Lonnie’s teeth clicked together against a scream, “ _I hope the boy hasn’t been too much trouble?”_ A shape took form in the middle of the barge.

The white eyes gave it some definition but the shape only resembled Shadow Weaver in the loosest possible sense. The living shadow floated closer to her and Lonnie very seriously considered hurling herself off the barge and trusting in fate.

“Ma’am,” she swallowed, “I don’t understand what this is.”

“ _A projection,”_ there was a slight twinge of annoyance in her distorted voice, “ _nothing all that strange, Lonnie. Lord Hordak has seen to clarify his instructions with me. I am to stay well away from the brig until the child’s trials are over.”_

“Shadow Weaver,” Lonnie cleared her throat and clicked her heels together, “the problem today was my fault. Sgt. Blue-Crest-”

“ _I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to,”_ Shadow Weaver’s projection managed a realistically dismissive wave of a shadow appendage, _“and it is beside the point. I have ‘met’ with you now for matters relating to the boy’s test of strength.”_

_Oh, is that what we’re calling it?_ Lonnie nodded even as she thought the words.

“ _Warden Kronis has chosen his champion.”_

Lonnie’s grip on the railing tightened.

“I see,” Lonnie nodded, screwing up her confidence, “Adam can handle them, ma’am.” The breaking, static noise from projection justified itself as disturbing laughter.

_“Indeed,” Shadow Weaver said, “either way…I felt it best to show you what you’re up against.”_

“But…I thought there was no interference?” Lonnie could’ve smacked her forehead into the metal railing of the barge. She was _not_ about to try and lecture Shadow Weaver.

_“Kronis knows the boy. Why shouldn’t you know the boy’s enemy? We descend now. Rather rapidly. I wish to avoid this detour appearing like anything other than a brief malfunction.”_

_Brief is good,_ Lonnie thought. She kept her breathing even as the barge went down and down and down into the Prison’s every narrowing depths. The cells became sparser and less populated as they went. 

“ _What do you know of the War for the Sea of Sighs?”_ Lonnie almost had to laugh. This was about her worst nightmare come true. Shadow Weaver. Crushing darkness. And a history quiz, all at once.

“Uh…it was a long time ago, ma’am,” Lonnie offered, digging through her brain for any information, “the Horde won.”

_“Not without fierce resistance,”_ Shadow Weaver’s projection said, the barge entered the deepest parts of the abyss. LEVEL ZERO was declared in peeling white spray-paint on walls of bare, aged concrete. Lonnie unclipped the flashlight from her belt as the barge banked slowly to a yawning circular aperture labeled 0-1. 

It was enormous, easily twenty feet high and sealed off with bars thick as ancient tree-trunks. A small slot had been added to admit the barge.

“Ma’am?” she asked. Shadow Weaver’s projection turned to regard her with its shimmering white eyes.

“ _There is an archipelago a few days south into the sea. It sits along the curve of the Sighing Trade Winds, an ancient route for the sailing ships of Etheria. These are called, in the language of the people who lived there, ‘The Gift of the First Mother’. Named after a leviathan creature from the youngest days of our planet. Her children yet still live on those islands.”_ A dark, condescending chuckle. “ _At least... that is the myth. They are called the Karikoni.”_

The barge entered a man-made cavern of concrete and Lonnie’s nose and ears were stormed with water. An unseen waterfall roared into the space and kicked up the odor of mildew in stinking, cold gales of mist. The lights roved over a rippling surface of water black as oil. Mighty, rectangular pillars rose up from the roiling surface, holding up an enormous ceiling.

“ _Warriors of the ocean,”_ the projection went on, whispering now but still so very clear in her ears, “ _each one of them possesses claws powerful enough to pierce the hull of a Horde attack ship. And together, armed with little else but these claws, they rallied behind their war-leader and threatened a navy of steel ships and laser weapons. No, there isn’t much history to our war with them Lonnie…the Horde does not dwell on failures.”_

There was a heavy sucking splash from below them that made Lonnie gasp. It was the falls sending out an eddy of water, that was all it could be. There was no way something was living down here in this place of utter darkness.

“But…we won?” Lonnie flicked the flashlight on for comfort, the beam was pointless in such darkness. “Didn’t we?”

Another eddy announced itself…closer to the barge this time.

“ _Eventually,”_ the projection approached her, _“but only after we captured and isolated the worst among them. Your teachers may have left out the cost of this mission; a frigate-class vessel. I am not beholden to rumors, but some soldiers claim he did it all alone.”_ She pointed an intangible finger over the edge of the barge, _“and for thirty years he’s languished down here in these lightless waters. Look. Behold the fate of our enemies. The fate of the Karikoni.”_

A sound moaned out through the huge hall, twisting and mutating around the pillars and against the crushing surface of the water. It was almost inquisitive. An eddy swirled below them, and gallons of water fell like sheets of rain off of something enormous.

And then the claw swung into view. Looking gray in the dim light. A giant, shelled crustacean’s appendage that could’ve snapped Warden Trapjaw in two. The claw made her imagination run wild as she pictured how big it must have been. And then the Karikoni roared in fury and flexed its pincer once, filling the cavern with a snap like a tension wire breaking.

The sounds of its speech were watery, foaming hisses and thundering howls of rage. Lonnie couldn’t move. She couldn’t move an inch from horror.

 _“Be respectful, my dear, you are in the presence of royalty. The warrior prince of the oceans. I still remember the sight of him when they took him in chains to Lord Hordak. His shell is decorated with images of his victories.”_ Shadow Weaver hummed. “ _Oh, the poor thing is likely starving. The Warden doesn’t feed him nearly enough. Could anyone feed a creature so large?”_

“He can’t…he can’t make Adam fight that…”

“ _You will say nothing to anyone about this, Lonnie.”_ Shadow Weaver’s projection hissed. “ _I show you only so you may understand how prepared the boy must be…stranger things have happened than a child surviving a fight with a monster. Make sure the boy doesn’t run, or freeze up with terror. Make him ready to face down something so horrid. So long as he is, I have a_ **_good feeling_ ** _about his chances.”_ Something in her voice touched the back of Lonnie’s neck and made her think of the dark whispers that had haunted her since the fight in Horde Square.

_Shadows are everywhere, Lonnie,_ the shadows had hissed in her mind, _they’re coming for you. And no one will find you this time. No one will save you. You will be trapped in the dark, forever._ Her mind sharpened briefly, then dispersed in a cloud of past anxieties, mistakes, and fears.

That voice had made her remember the crate. Trying to stow-away on the skiff when she was eight. She remembered an eternity in the dark, kicking her little boots against the wood and screaming for someone to help her. The flashlight provided her a solid anchor to the moment. It kept her from breaking down completely.

“ _We shouldn’t torment the poor thing,”_ the barge banked away as the claw snapped again and the Karikoni thundered its displeasure. The barge rose and Lonnie watched the lights reappear and pass dimly by.

“ _Now, rest, my dear,”_ Shadow Weaver said, “ _You understand your mission. We have only four days until the boy faces his doom.”_ She vanished like a fevered nightmare. 

Lonnie docked at the bridge and walked like a living corpse back to her barracks.

She stood in front of her bunk and came back to herself. Her feet disappeared from beneath her and her breath came in huge gulps that still didn’t give her nearly enough air.

“He’s got no chance,” she wheezed, “he’s got no chance!” She slapped herself hard. “Get it together! Get. It. Together.” She focused on training. When you’re scared you train. That’s how it was in the Horde.

She did sit-ups, sweat pouring down her braids, and the lights turned on in every corner of the barracks. Her mind would not stop replaying the sight of the giant pincer and the snap of its impact.

 _Monsters love the dark, Lonnie,_ the dark thing from Horde Square had taunted her, _You can’t fight them. Not if you can’t see them. And they’re always there… just out of reach… waiting for someone to stumble into their grasp._

She did not sleep that night. Not even when her exhaustion had pinned her to the barracks floor.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Happy Fifteenth Birthday, Pr-”

“Go away,” Adora growled, curled up resolutely on the floor, “I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“Very well,” the dream-warrior said, “tomorrow is a new day, Prince Adam, get some rest.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, cheek squished against the cold stone. The pressure and the gritty feeling vanished seconds later, leaving her alone in the dark dreamscape. “Ooooh, *tomorrow is a new day*...pfft.” 

Adora lay there for a moment sulking and miserable, mind rotating around the idea that she...that _She-Ra..._ might not be everything she’d been told. She’d asked Bow and Glimmer, delicately as she could, if there were any discrepancies in the legends of the warrior woman. ‘None’ had been the gist of their answers. 

Glimmer had been brooding the whole time. Sweet Bee’s reply to her formal invitation to join the Princess Alliance had not sounded promising. Bow had strangely clammed up after Adora had asked after the book by those two Whispering Woods people she’d read about. 

“He’s from there,” she groused to the black void, “I figured he’d know them. Maybe that’s not polite? Maybe that’s why he seemed so off.” She rolled over on the nothing around her and sighed at the nothing overhead. “Still can’t do anything right, Adora…”

That feeling crushed in on her, harder and harder until it pressed her lungs down to squeeze a few tears out of her eyes. She felt _terrible._ She felt like all of her negativity had just multiplied. 

“Come on,” she whined, “let me get some sleep? Please? I already feel like garbage.” She rolled over and found herself staring into the morose face of a small child. Her surprise seemed to trigger something in the child, who looked up and gasped in fright. They both screamed. 

“Who? Who are… W-Wait!” She reached out as the boy began to turn tail and flee, grasping at the edge of a strange piece of clothing covered in bristly purple fur. “Don’t go!”

The figure had vanished but Adora felt, deeply, as if the thought was taking root from a source outside her own mind, a wary, watchful caution. She sat up and looked around carefully. 

“Hello? Are you still here...? Please come out?” The outsider made no reply but she sensed -almost felt it herself- the feeling of flared caution and the small figure straying away from her. “Aw. What’s the point?” The glum defeat in her reached out and curled around the outsider emotion.  
“...of even recording these anymore?” Adora turned around and slumped forward as she found the dream-warrior returned, in the middle of the sparring room. The man wore no helmet and his proud face was drawn with weariness. He sat on a crate, turning a longsword over in his hands. “You’ll never see them. You’ll probably never know about any of this…any of us.” 

“I **said** I didn’t wanna train today,” Adora grumbled, “or tonight.. or whatever... Ugh. Why am I talking to you? You’re probably some kind of stress-induced psychosis.” 

“We wouldn’t start training you in the real arts of war right away,” he sighed, not heeding Adora at all, “not until you were fifteen. Such an important day. I can picture it in my mind.” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “It's so painful to imagine now.” 

“Hey! She-Ra!” Adora called to him, “Eternia! Adora! She-Ra! Etheria! Adora! UGH! What are you even?!”

“Ah!” That voice was small, young-sounding and most certainly not coming from the man in front of her. She craned her neck around trying to find the source. 

“Hello?” 

“I wanted to train you like I was trained. You train the mind first and then the body. Become a person _before_ you become a warrior.” Adora’s attention became split between the two dream-persons sharing her world. The outsider’s emotions had shifted to curiosity. “That’s the way. The Way of Warriors, as it’s been taught for ages here.” 

“The Way of Warriors?” Adora turned, ready to spring if the dream-child returned. “What does that mean? Where is _here_?!” 

“This place,” the man rose to his feet and looked around the room, at the dummies and obstacle course, “it was built long before. In a time that was so much darker, smaller, meaner than...well...who says we’ve gotten any better?” He sighed. “Are we? Should we be here if it is? Wouldn’t all the… all the people we lost still be here if this really was a better world?” 

“Etheria?” Adora scooted closer, legs crossed as she tried to memorize everything. 

“It shouldn’t fall to you,” the man growled suddenly, anger tensing him, “it can’t keep being the children who fix our mistakes!” He turned to her. “So...I’m going away, my prince, or...I’m going to become something else. Something that can protect you. But...I’ll...I don’t know if I’d like what I’ll become.” Adora gasped to see his hands trembling. “If I’ll remain who I am, or become something... monstrous...”

“Monster,” a child’s voice said, sniffling a little, “monster…” Adora froze and turned her head the barest inch to her left. The dream-child sat next to her, barely observed. She couldn’t see them fully and dared not move, lest she frighten them. The boy’s feelings were palpable in her mind, as strong and easy to read as her own. They were full of the same misery she’d felt earlier. Inward-facing, hurtful, and so impossible to throw away. She knew it well. 

“Ahem,” the warrior coughed, “where was I? Ah, yes.” He gestured around him. “In your home, at the palace, we would’ve trained in a room that was circular. The floor, where we spared, would’ve been ringed by a red circle. The Circle of Honor.” Adora perked up. 

For the Honor of Grayskull. The words puzzled her now more than ever.

“It’s not just a place to fight, you see,” the man smiled, “it’s...it’s the way I was taught. Honor is a circle, my prince. It begins with you and it returns to you.” The warrior stared longingly at the sword in his hand. “Even if it returns and you lose the people you love...if it returns with disgrace...with uncertainty...the Circle of Honor begins again with *you* every time. It can only begin again if you choose it.” 

Adora found herself thinking of Catra. Of the look on her face when she’d chosen She-Ra. The Rebellion. Bow and Glimmer. The pain coursed through her again and hollowed her out as she felt, like the loss of a limb, the absence of her best friend. 

“Why couldn’t you come with me?” She said to herself, emotion driving the words out. “Why didn’t you see? I had to. I had to change and I had to become…” _Liar. Murderer. Tyrant._ The accusations in the photographs hurtled through her brain, “...I had to follow my destiny.” 

“I hope I’ve made the right choices,” the dream-warrior said, “I hope I haven’t made this a worse world. But most of all,” he sighed, “somedays I wish the Circle of Honor never came back around to me, and I could be a straight-line heading towards the horizon. Never doubting.” The man sighed. “Enough. Stop recording.” He vanished. Adora turned slowly to the dream-child, still staring sullenly into nothing. 

“Sooo are you...my inner child or something?” she asked softly. 

The child yipped and began to scooch away from her. 

“No, please!” she said, keeping her emotions calm, “Please. I won’t hurt you.” The child drew up their strange hood, then pulled long blonde hair across their face. Shaking their head and pointing at themselves. She felt it again, the strange feeling of his thoughts mixing with hers. “You...you don’t want to hurt _me?”_

“Monster,” the child whispered. Adora snorted a laugh and the boy protested. “Mmm!”

“S-sorry,” she said, “I just...you’re a little tiny for a monster. And... you don’t seem so bad to me.” The child revealed a hopeful blue-eye. Adora moved closer, slowly, until she was next to them again. “So.. _are_ you supposed to be me? You look like me, well, sorta... My guess is you’re not a part of this training, uh, ‘recording.’ You’re just a normal dream. Right?” 

Confusion pushed into her mind, and she felt the child trying to piece together her words. 

“I dunno _what_ you are. But I’m glad you’re here with me… Glad I’m not alone in an empty room by myself. Is that what it’s going to be like for now on? If I don’t wanna spend the night training, I’ll just spend it alone in this room for hours? _Great._ ”

Confusion. Uncertainty. A growing nervousness. The boy’s emotions did not communicate that he understood. She sighed. And leaned back on her palms. She considered the dream-child again. 

“So what makes you think you’re a monster? Well, I guess I should be asking _myself_ that.”

“Umm…” the boy hummed, twiddling the bones on his tunic with fidgeting fingers. She felt his shame. The shame of a brash choice.

“If what I read in the library is true… She-Ra could be a real monster if she wanted to be. She’s unstoppable. But everyone says She-Ra is the hero. What if they’re wrong? I gave everything up to do this, a-and I don’t regret it! Bow and Glimmer were right about the Horde! But.. if being She-Ra means I’m gonna end up the same way… If she’s not any better? What do I do then? Everyone’s counting on me to be She-Ra...” Adora waited for the boy to respond, then became lost in her thoughts as she pondered what she’d do next. 

“Ca-tra…” Came a little whimper from her side. She looked down at him and saw he’d curled up into a ball, his chin resting on both knees. His feelings wormed into Adora’s head and finished the thought: _Where’s Catra? I miss her…_ Adora made a long, exhausted sigh, then smiled before stifling a giggle. 

“Really gave yourself away there, pal. Now I _know_ you’re me.” The boy looked up, suddenly warry again, like he expected her to launch into a scolding.

“Don’t feel bad. She made her choice. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but… It’s okay to miss her. Just give it more time. Things will get better. They _have_ to, right?” Either because of confusion or disappointment, the boy did not seem moved by this train of thought. He hid his face between his legs and repeated himself. _Catra._

“Yea... That line didn’t work on me when I was awake, either.” She slouched forward, held her own legs and mirrored the boy for a moment. An idea popped in her head. 

“Hey. You want a hug?” 

“Ah?” The boy looked to her as she mimed encircling someone with her arms. 

“Hug. Y’know… a hug. They make you feel better. They make **me** feel better, at least... Okay, you probably already knew that since you *are* me, right?” she scratched her ear, “Or… like, a… ‘side’ of me maybe? My inner boyhood? Whatever. Hug?” She held her arms out. “C’mooon. We’ll hug it out.” The child rose, fingers playing small teeth on their purple tunic ever more furiously. They came forward, very slow, standing almost shorter than her even though she was sitting down. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Or… even what I’m supposed to _be_. Everything with She-Ra just makes me more and more confused. But...I wanna believe I can still tell right from wrong. And it's not wrong to give someone a hug when they need one. So. C’mere.” 

“Um?” The child was a shy little thing and her heart melted at his indecision. He spread his arms, mimicking her. She gestured for him to get closer. 

He came within arm’s length and Adora touched his shoulders, first one then the other when he tensed. The boy touched her shoulders in response. She drew the dream-child in and pressed her cheek to the side of the hood, smelling baking powder and the old lavender wash she used in the Horde. Briefly she meditated on how weird dreams could be sometimes. 

“Oh,” the child said softly, a smile tinging his voice. “Oh. Hug.” The boy’s realization touched her mind, then turned into warm comfort and safety. She quietly laughed as the tiny arms around her shoulders squeezed with surprising strength. “Mmm.”

“Yeah,” she said, “hugs are nice, right?” The strange twinning of her emotions, as a flood of feelings threatened to overwhelm her. Feelings of shelter, as if embracing the child was growing a mighty fortress around her. Her worries were locked outside its gates and would gain no entry. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? I promise. We aren’t monsters. Not yet… and we’re not gonna change that way.”

“Deal?” The boy leaned back in her arms and stared right at her as he awaited an answer. She laughed again. He looked so goofy when his eyes were so wide, and all the sadness had left his face.

“Deal.” 

The dream-child hugged her again, this time better with practice. He was a heavy weight in her arms, real as everything else she experienced in this strange place, and as the waking world reclaimed her, she found herself tightly hugging one of her pillows. She frowned, already missing the strange effect the dream had on her. 

“Why is it so much easier to comfort myself when I pretend I’m someone else?” She sighed. She hugged her pillow again. Not the same. “Oh well. Unpack that later, I guess. Sweet dreams, inner-me.” 

* * *

  
  
  


Adam frowned as his eyes flickered open in his cell, disappointed the dream-lady wasn’t there with him anymore. She’d been so nice. She even reminded him of Catra. ‘Hug.’ He liked that word. It had been much easier to learn than ‘fight’. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Editor's Note:

Dear readers, the author and I thought it appropriate to announce that we'll be taking a temporary hiatus soon.

The story we've uploaded thus far had all been drafted for a while and we've been punching it up as we've uploaded, but we're out of road now so we need to take a break and write out more of the story before we can start uploading again.

We don't want you all to interpret the sudden radio silence as us abandoning the story, but also we can't give a return date, so we hope you'll bear with us as we get more of the story ironed out for you. It has been so so fun to write this story, and to see everyone's response to it, so we can't wait for this hiatus to give us a chance to dig deeper into the narrative we've built, and we hope you all stick around to enjoy this story with us.

We'll be uploading another two or three chapters before the Hiatus hits, and once it does we'll announce that it's officially on.

Hope you're all still as safe and sound as possible, and that you stay that way.


	14. Mark the Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Adam's last day before the fight that decides his fate. While his protectors mull over his odds and wonder what can be done for him, he and Lonnie spend one last training session together, and she tells him an important story before asking him a favor.

Catra scraped her claw along the limestone block erupting from the ruined surface of the Old Road. If there was another name for it, little Horde Troopers-to-be were never taught it in Cadet Training. It was simply known by the name it had since time immemorial. ‘The Old Road.’ 

It was a rare landmark in the badlands, one that gave it some definition. A straight line, starting at a broken-off point to the North-East of the Fright Zone walls and ending with the archway at the eaves of the Whispering Woods. The arch was buckling in the middle where a keystone must have once sat. The eastern side displayed a faded image of the Black Garnet. On the opposite side was an oval of cracked stone with carvings of angelic wings spreading behind it.

The road, once upon a time, had ended in Brightmoon. Then the Whispering Woods itself had ‘chosen’ a side in the war. The forest swallowed the ancient path like an animal, and since then had opened up only twice. Once to admit the Rebel Army’s great and mighty Princess Alliance with King Micah at the fore, and then again to shelter their retreating forces, now leaderless and one half its original size. Since then, it was as if the path had never run any farther than the archway. 

“Catra!” Scorpia hollered from off the north, waving one pincer high and cupping the other over her mouth. “Hey, boss, you should come see this!” Catra’s tail flicked and she toyed with the idea of refusing. Her spot under the arch was shaded and cool. Hidden, too. There were few places to hide in the badlands.

“Ma’am?” She glared up at Chloris, the Satyr girl who’d spoken, and shifted her eyes to the half of her detachment lingering behind her. They were crowded around the silent carabus, waiting expectantly. She stood up, arching slightly to alleviate pain in her back.

“You,” she gestured vaguely at one half of her troops, “stay with the carabus. You.” She gestured at the other half. “Follow me. Don’t get in the way.” She passed under the arch, sparing a look down the vanishing length of road, as fifteen soldiers fell into step behind her. Their crisp single-file march highlighting her slow, distracted gait in a way that made her more annoyed.

It was hot. An uncomfortable final day of their ‘mission’ distracting imaginary spies that may or may not report a Horde force moving near the woods. It was all an act. A show.

“Stupid,” she grumbled to herself.

“Huh?” Scorpia, having waited, fell into step with her. “You say something?”

“No.” She found the silence she put them into no more relaxing. Scorpia was smiling softly and seemed unencumbered by the hot, dry air. Catra, in a flash of imagination that was her sole companion at times, wondered if the Whispering Woods could be tricked. Scorpia was a ‘Princess’ after all and maybe the Woods would mistake her for an ally. Then it was a short trip to Brightmoon and Catra could have anything she wanted.

This new scheme, not her best idea by far, upset her especially now. What did it matter? They weren’t going to the Whispering Woods. They had been barely close enough to see more than a fuzzy horizon of trees. Tomorrow they’d turn to make a straight line back to the Fright Zone. As ordered. 

She had no energy for any more plotting. She was so tired. Since the boy had arrived, she hadn’t been sleeping well at all.

They came to a gully, well hidden from the eye by the flatness of the landscape, but betrayed too easily by someone, say someone with a name like Kyle, planting the nose of a skiff into it. The vehicle was off to the side, being assessed by a few of her troopers. Inside the gully, at the center of a small makeshift camp, Rogelio rose from ground, clutching a handful of fabric.

Catra leapt down, ignoring Scorpia’s explanation and swiped the cloth from her squadmate. She ignored Rogelio’s little growl of annoyance as she sniffed the wad. Sweat. The dry smell of someone’s breath. The cloying scent of campfire smoke.

“They were just here,” Catra said, surprised at how uninterested she sounded, “maybe an hour ago. Probably saw our dust cloud and bolted.”

“Rebels?” Kyle asked, sitting on a wicker mat and nursing a twisted ankle from his crash. “Way out here?” Catra held up the fabric. It was a lovely shade of white and patterned with repeating birds of deep, almost brownish red.

“No,” she said, “anybody seen one of these before?” Catra turned, noting how some of her troopers jumped at being addressed. She simmered over having to ‘prove herself’ a leader. She never asked for this. She never _wanted_ this. She hadn’t been trained for it like-

_No._ She snarled in her mind. _Don’t think about her today. Don’t think about anything. Just don’t think, Catra, for once in your life. Don’t. Think._ Gan had stepped forward, and the over-large human was already mid-sentence when she tuned in.

“Sgt. Fatima,” he repeated, “she was one of my squad’s teachers at the Academy. Had a head-scarf like that. Got it from Castle Condor. Old stuff. From before the Horde killed Baron Condor and wiped out his army to take Sand Valley.” That was it then. Not deserters or rebels.

“Civilians. Runaways,” Catra announced, “runaways from Sand Valley. Must’ve slipped out last week while we were all...” _Don’t think, Catra. Just don’t think._ “Occupied with the intruder.”

“They’re a long way from home,” Scorpia whistled, “running away from what?”

“From the Horde, idiot,” Catra snapped, “what else?” She followed the smell of water, so pungent in the sandy air, to a cache of urns hidden behind some rocks. One had shattered; otherwise the clay would’ve blended into the rocks. “Pros. I bet one of them does this all the time. See these? Left over for the journey back. Or maybe the next group.”

“But we’ve been in Sand Valley for like forty years. Who’s left who doesn’t realize how good the Horde has made it for them?” Scorpia seemed almost offended by the abandoned camp. Rogelio chuffed and jabbed a finger at a bundle of scrub brush tied to a wooden branch. A crude sort of broom left near a scuffle mark in the sand.

“Someone tripped running away,” Catra said, “found your long-lost twin, Kyle.”

“Hah, very funny,” Kyle pouted. Catra followed the tracks and paused when they became a mess of much, much smaller prints. They disappeared a few paces later, scraped away by brushes like the one the clumsy runaway had dropped.

“Kids,” Catra breathed, “they had kids with them. A _lot_ of kids.”

“So?”

“It’s recruitment season in Sand Valley I guess.” Catra said. Small footprints. Small boots. A small hand touching her tiger-striped bicep curiously. A small face under blonde hair with big, expressive blue eyes. _Don’t think. Don’t think._

“They’re gone,” she said, “they’re already long gone. Let’s get back to the-”

“Force Captain!” A trooper raced to the lip of the gully. “Dust cloud coming up the road! Fast!” Catra’s instincts kicked in. She silently praised the distraction. She slipped away from her thoughts and entered a null space of frenetic movement that ended when she stood back under the arch, her soldiers and Scorpia rushing to flank either side of her.

“Chainsaws,” someone said, “they’re our guys.” The idiot sounded almost relieved. Her bad luck held out. The first rider to hop off the cracked road and skid to a halt was decorated with a hazard-yellow Force Captain’s symbol. Dragstor’s helmet cocked to the side as she regarded them.

“Hey, junior grade,” she said, pitching her voice down as twenty of the Fourth’s biker-troopers rolled up around her. Their engines chugged and filled the air with the stink of diesel. “Don’t tell me you snatched my little rabbits before I did.”

“The runaways?” Scorpia asked. Catra glared her into silence.

“Gone. Not that you would’ve snuck up on ‘em.” Catra glanced at their bikes. “Those things are loud. Obnoxious, too.”

“Like looking in a mirror, huh, junior grade?” Dragstor flipped up her visor. Gray eyes drilled into Catra. “Think I remember saying something about you, and sand-rats, and getting run over.” Catra’s claws extended.

“Honestly? Please do. I could so use the chance to kill something.” Dragstor rose up from her seat then seemed to take stock of her surroundings. Outnumbered. Encircled. Mistakenly hemmed in by the bumpy ruin of the Old Road. She flicked her visor down.

“Afraid we got more important pests to deal with,” she snarled, revving her bike, “this time at least… Now clear the road!” Catra stood resolutely in the middle of the archway as her soldiers backed out. Scorpia stepped away, noticed Catra’s defiance, gulped audibly, and stood her ground. Dragstor made a V with her arms and flicked them forward. Scorpia squawked as nineteen Chainsaws roared past on either side of them. Catra stood there, numbly aware of how her hair yanked backwards with each gust of wind.

Dragstor rolled forward, turned her front wheel sharply and stopped next to Catra.

“Gotta get ‘em quick,” Dragstor taunted, “want to get home in time to watch the big fight…bets are already on for how long the kid lasts.” Dragstor chuckled. “I got faith in him. He seemed tough. So I give him…thirteen seconds. Want in?” Catra kept her face clear of the turmoil inside her. She yawned.

“Really suck if those runaways slip the net. Then you’d have to tell Lord Hordak you *failed* to catch them. All across the perimeter. They’re close now. If they don’t stop, maybe they’ll make it to the woods before you find ‘em.”

“They’ve got a better chance then the kid,” Dragstor’s parting shot was underscored with the roar of her engine. She raced off towards the horizon and joined the great dust cloud of her soldiers. Catra stood, mind racing, she ran her fingers over the smooth fabric of the scarf in her hand.

“Listen up,” she shouted, “all of you head down that gully and trash everything you find. Smash the water pots. Rip the wicker mats apart, tear down their stupid little lean-tos. Then burn it all.” A ripple of action moved through her troopers. “Then get that skiff working and let’s move out.”

There was a mean eagerness to the way she was obeyed. No one brought up discipline, rank, or tactics this time. Nothing Horde kids liked more than an excuse to break something. The troops hurried off, all of them save Scorpia, to either do the honors or at least watch the carnage. Deep down they were all the same little hellions they’d been before they made Trooper, starved for some form of self-expression.

Catra didn’t judge them. There was something beautiful in watching things break, hearing stuff shatter into a million pieces. She considered the fabric in her hands and the nice little tearing noise she’d hear if she ripped in two.

Or maybe she could unspool it thread by thread, watch the careful weave reverse itself into string. Maybe she could take it to the big fire her troops would make of the camp and watch it float on the hot air for a moment before it turned black and spiraled into ashes.

…but her heart wasn’t in it. The wind kicked up from the west and pulled towards the woods, in the direction of Bright Moon. She uncurled her fist one finger at a time and watched the scarf slip free and sail off down the ruins of the Old Road. Maybe some whirlwind would take it all the way to Bright Moon. She doubted it would make it that far.

“Oh,” Scorpia said, “I thought...y’know...that would’ve made a nice souvenir.” Catra shook her head slowly. “For Adam. I bet he’d have liked it.” 

“We’re never gonna see him again,” Catra said, voice empty of any strong emotion, “ok? Never again, Scorpia, and that’s all there is to it.” 

“Hey,” Scorpia’s voice was soft, hopeful, “he’s tough. Don’t count him out…”

“He’s already gone.” Scorpia’s eyes grew a little shiny. 

“Don’t say that,” it was more of a plea than an encouragement. 

“Oh, just get over it,” she hissed sharply, “it’s not _your_ fault. It’s not _mine_. It just... is what it is. Nothing we can do about it.” Scorpia nodded. 

“I’ll...go keep an eye on the carabus or something.” 

“Whatever. I don’t care what you do.” Scorpia walked away, grinding sand under her boots. She gave Catra a hopeful smile over her shoulder.

“Maybe he’ll surprise us,” Scorpia said. Catra stared after the scarf she’d released to the wind and waited until she was alone again. When she was sure no one could hear her, she spoke quietly. 

“Nah. No reason to bet on him. You gave him a chance, Catra. Best chance he ever had. But he’s gone... And life’s already back to the usual grind. So... get busy…” she let the emptiness take her heart, breathing out the last of her sorrows. She hated guilt. And regret. She hated them because she was never one to say sorry to anyone, for anything.

* * *

Shadow Weaver examined Horde Square subtly as she arrived. A stump of a lamppost wrapped in yellow tape. Swords slashes in the concrete filled with freshly poured cement. 

“Ah, this must have been quite some event,” she mused to herself, feeling the Dark Dream squirm in the jewel of her mask, “hm? You do not like this place, child? Are you still humiliated by the place of your first failure?” The presence grew cold and small in her mind. “Reflect on that, and keep still. Lord Hordak may deliver into my hands a chance for you to feast and grow strong once more, and for me to learn _so very much_ from this boy. Oh, and _of course_...” she wiped her jewel slowly, like she meant to pet her creation, “yes, of course. Once I’ve exhumed from him every secret he hides... you will be free to shatter his mind as revenge.” 

She ascended the stairs to Hordak’s throne room and didn’t acknowledge the red-armored Scorpioni warrior standing statue-like to the side. She felt Dark Dream sniffing at strong emotions radiating off the man. Fear, of course, and a deep, searing hatred as Shadow Weaver passed by. Odd. They must have met sometime before. 

The throne room doors opened, silent and sleek. They’d been repaired quickly as part of the effort to erase all signs of the boy from the Fright Zone. Inside the hall, the green helix lights glowed with new strength and Hordak was perched on his throne without outward signs of weariness.

“My lord,” Shadow Weaver bowed. A woman turned as Shadow Weaver entered. The former Commander, Serket, gave her a stiff salute. Shadow Weaver turned to Hordak. “Would you prefer to see us one at a time?”

“I called you both here at once,” Hordak sneered, “I will see you both at once. Commander Serket...” his face twisted with the barest hint of disappointment. “Continue. Tell me what site will best suit my purposes.”

“Lord Hordak, there is an arena,” Serket said, voice still powerful with her old authority as she reported, “along the southern beach, between the Fright Zone’s South-West postern…it’s the old western entrance to the Kingdom- to the *Old* Kingdom, excuse me.” She cleared her throat enthusiastically. “Yes, my lord, this is an arena within reasonable distance of the prison. But it will not draw a crowd of any idle passersby.”

“This is a place from your people’s history?” Hordak asked. Shadow Weaver marveled, not for the first time, at how utterly the stranger-lord from beyond their world had subjugated one of the ancient Kingdoms of Etheria. How he commanded this very descendant of the bloodline, who trembled at his voice, to supply him with her heritage as it suited his purposes.

 _And this Queen Who Never Was,_ she thought with pride, _has a daughter that I can control. Both of them rejecting the runestone once wasted in their hands. The runestone I command._ There were days that the mundane power in Hordak’s hands seemed almost as breathtaking as any magic she’d performed. Almost.

“The Circle of Honor,” Serket nodded, “an ancient place. Where disputes had been settled…”

“It was not dynamited with the rest of the old ruins?” Serket’s teeth clenched briefly and she shook her head.

“It was deemed unimportant. It offers no strategic advantage thus was…overlooked.” Dark Dream kept itself in check but could not help shivering at the self-loathing and terror that Serket felt in the moment that followed.

“Very well,” Hordak nodded, “then it will serve the needs of the Horde. That is all for now. You may return to your…retirement.” He all but gagged on the word. “As we agreed on.”

“I thank you, sire,” Serket bowed hurriedly, “I am yours to command, always…”she froze and when she stood up again Shadow Weaver saw the distant memory of Commander Serket in her eyes, “…Before I take my leave, I wish to ask, my lord, about the child?”

“What?” Hordak growled. Shadow Weaver floated away a few inches, watching eagerly, mind racing around what new intrigue this unknown player might bring to the table.

“There is…” Commander Serket took a breath, “a place, near the arena. A cemetery for combatants who fell in battle. It was custom, long ago, that the victorious party inter their opponents. A symbolic gesture to ‘bury’ the feud. To end the strife.” She looked devastated momentarily. “If the…whomever should fall tomorrow…would it concern you if I chose a place for them in that cemetery? I would use my personal guard for the task, of course-”

“Why,” Hordak cut in, “would I care about the prisoner who falls? Do what you please, so long as it does not interfere with our operations.” He shook his head, bemused by the exchange. “I will insist you not bother me with any other questions about this.”

“Of course, my lord,” Serket saluted and made her exit.

“‘Customs’,” Lord Hordak snorted the words. Shadow Weaver grinned as he continued, “selfish idiocy.”

“An arena,” Shadow Weaver said, turning to her lord and approaching the base of his throne, “steeped in history, framed by the open sea. Two doom-driven opponents. Shall we have the duel at moonset, sire? That is traditionally how stories like this go.”

“Do not make jokes,” Hordak sighed, rubbing his chin, “it will be at moonrise. As the work day begins. I will not have the soldiers milling about to gawk at whatever happens.” He leaned forward. “As for you, Shadow Weaver…”

She hid her apprehension with practiced care.

“…I am pleased to see you have obeyed my instructions. With correction, of course.”

She further hid her satisfaction with a careful nod.

“You were right to do so, sire,” Shadow Weaver offered, “I was blinded by the potential of the child and did not temper my words at his trial. I ask you to forgive any impertinence on my part.”

“Catra has also shown great respect for my wishes.” She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded again.

“She has the benefit of being on a mission, my lord,” Shadow Weaver kept her voice even, “but…she did assign a capable subordinate to care for the child. They are training again today.”

“I fail to see how that will help him,” Hordak scowled, “I should have banished him…ended this foolish charade nine days ago.”

“My opinion of your choice has only improved, Lord Hordak, the boy might be of use to us, or he may not. Your trial will give us a clear answer. I have no reservations about it.”

“None?” He baited her.

“Ah,” Shadow Weaver shrugged, “I have learned to be content with what I have, sire. I am not the first scholar to lose out on an opportunity of discovery. But as you’ve said, I am unlike them in that I have a higher calling to answer.”

“Warden Kronis has selected an opponent. We have a location.” His face became a tad less drawn, more stern. Shadow Weaver had learned to read his emotions. He enjoyed the moment before a solution was enacted even if he did not admit it openly. 

If she could coax him into her way of thinking, skirting alongside that security, she could have what she wanted. This was a chink in the armor of the great lord, one that a whisper could slip through with ease. She had to come to the point carefully, like a bobcat stalking a wolf, to find the perfect moment to strike. 

“Is his opponent trustworthy?” Shadow Weaver asked innocently. “Will they fight with a child?” 

“I cannot believe anyone in our prisons would be foolish enough not to,” Hordak said, “and if the child is anywhere as dangerous as Force Captain Catra would have me believe, it is in their best interest to defend themselves.” Hordak smirked. “Our ways should have tempered all softness from any Etherian.” 

“Sire…” _do you not know who the boy will fight? No. Too obvious. Something else. Something subtler. Did you pick…no, I was there when he ordered Kronis to choose…_ “what shall we do with the boy’s opponent when the battle ends?”

“As I had commanded, we will send them on their way,” he muttered, “there no more need to discuss this.” 

_You don’t know._ Her mind raced with the possibility. She had been there when the Karikoni was dragged to Lord Hordak. She had heard the graveness of his voice as he sentenced him to a lifetime of imprisonment in the darkness. Lord Hordak did not make idle threats, or commute life sentences on a whim. _Now…to get to the arena with his consent._

“My lord,” Shadow Weaver paced herself, “please forgive me if I may have steered us away from the topic. You summoned me, I am certain, for more than a *much appreciated* recognition of my obedience?”

“Be mindful of your own levity, Shadow Weaver,” Hordak said in a low rumble, “I wish to discuss protocol for tomorrow. Commander Serket will oversee the security of the match. A small number of her personal guards should be enough. Warden Kronis will attend, of course, as shall the Trooper Force Captain Catra made responsible for the child.” 

“Of course, my lord,” Shadow Weaver saw her chance and took it, “if I may offer a suggestion?” Red eyes narrowed suspiciously at her and Shadow Weaver put concern into her voice. “Our former Commander is…not a particularly reserved woman when it comes to her emotions. She has been retired for quite some time and it is her reputation that I consider. She was a fine warrior in her day but she has suffered much.”

“You believe she would interfere?” Hordak asked, the idea taking root in his mind. “She has never disobeyed me before.”

“Her traumas have made her weary, sire, and the boy has many enemies by this point. We both can see that. I worry this ‘retirement’ has stolen all the gumption in her. She may not be able to ensure no foul play happens. But perhaps I worry for nothing-”

“ **No,** if you are so sure she is incapable, a replacement must be found,” Hordak fumed, “and you _doubtlessly_ have a suggestion for this, also?”

“I fear that very few will inspire fear and order as well as you, my lord.”

“A ridiculous suggestion. I would never allow any to see me so unoccupied. The Fright Zone has thousands of greater concerns than this _boy_. My presence would contradict this...” Hordak suddenly growled and winced as though a mousetrap had just snapped on his fingers. He seemed to already know what Shadow Weaver would say next. She leaped for the kill.

“Why, of course, your lord! You should not demean yourself. If I had to suggest anything, I’d say that the Horde always recognizes power. And mine,” she offered her hand and allowed a small vortex of dark to play between her fingers, “could be of service here. If you’d _honor_ me with your trust,” Shadow Weaver said, all humility as she bowed low, “I would take away this menial burden for you. I swear to you, none are so unwise to defy your will in _my_ presence.” There was a pause before Hordak spoke up, his tone suddenly different. 

“Oh, but you,” Hordak said pleasantly, “will have the honor of assisting me in my laboratory, Shadow Weaver. After all, you have done so well keeping yourself on the correct path.” Hordak smiled and Shadow Weaver bit back a growl of frustration. The wolf had turned on the bobcat.

“Ah. Yes, I...am honored, Lord Hordak.” 

“You will thank me for this someday, Shadow Weaver, I truly believe that.”  
“I am, and always shall be, eternally grateful for your wisdom.”

“Force Captain Octavia has been a model soldier during this time,” Hordak said. Inside her sleeves, Shadow Weaver’s fingernails nearly drew blood as they dug into her linked hands. “She has earned herself a chance to oversee this. Security will be her responsibility. Serket will be there to represent me in absentia. Thus clearing any _gossip_ about her efficacy.” Hordak smiled. “A fine solution to all my problems.” 

“A wise decision indeed, my lord,” Shadow Weaver nodded, mind racing at once to find a new solution. 

“No,” Hordak gestured to her, “the credit is yours, Shadow Weaver. _You_ suggested this. Well done.” With another gesture she was dismissed and as the doors behind her, she faced the world like a picture of serenity.

Inside, she raged. 

She would not be at the arena. Her plan would not work if she wasn’t there. That was it then. The boy was lost, and this chance to get Adora back would die with him. Any sliver of hope that she would understand the power, the strange fascinating power, that coursed through him and through Adora, was gone. 

Dark Dream squirmed at her discomfort and she almost scolded it. But she paused. She would not be at the arena… but at moonrise, shadows would be everywhere. Too many for just one to be noticed. 

“Listen to me carefully, child,” she hissed, “for your future depends on it.” 

* * *

“Boss?” Lonnie blinked and looked around with prickling, exhausted eyes. She looked blankly at the clock of the little training room and lurched forward at the read-out. 1500 Hours. She’d sat down for a ‘minute’ almost an hour ago.

Adam was sitting in front of her fiddling with the hilt of his practice sword.

“Huh?” She asked intelligently.

“Train?” Adam asked, nodding at the sword resting against her shoulder.

“What’s the point?” she said to herself. She hadn’t been this tired since she got assigned triple patrol for failing in the Senior Cadet Quarterly Review last winter. She growled at the memories of that Review. Of Shadow Weaver, who’d haunted the viewing platform as soon as their squad, _Adora’s_ squad, had started their maneuvers.

“Do you think you’re good enough to be in a Force Captain’s regiment?” Those awful, loaded questions she’d hissed at Lonnie when she’d washed out. “Maybe you need to see what life awaits you here, as any other grunt in our army.”

It wasn’t fair. She looked at the boy in front of her and her mind filled the small room behind her with the image of a giant, clawed monster.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t worth the pain anymore.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“Just buzz off,” she growled, “leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“Um?” She scowled at him expecting him to shrink back as he always did when anyone got angry. It wasn’t his fault, he was some little kid with no idea how things worked. When people looked mad he backed off. When people looked happy he felt safe. He was an easy person to be around, in spite of it all, because he didn’t stow away his feelings, or pretend, or do anything a Horde Trooper did.

“Go. Away.” She shook her head. “Not in the mood.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, ready to wile away the last day before the match in a fog of sleep. At least when she was sleeping her mind would shut off for a few minutes. A plastic weight dropped onto her lap. “Hey!”

Adam’s blue eyes were hard and commanding when she looked at him. He tried to look stern, screwing up his mouth in a little upside-down ‘u’ shape as he pointed an imperious finger at the sword in her lap.

“Train!”

“I said I’m not in the mood!” Lonnie snapped. Adam shook his head and pointed again.

“Train!”

“Why should I?”

“Train! Boss! Adam!” He pointed at her and then himself. Then pitching his voice low, lower than she thought necessary, as he growled an imitation of Lonnie’s voice. “Adam, train!”

_Feel sad? Train. Feel happy? Train. Train and train and train…_

“Ugh,” she sighed, “Kid, you learn way too fast,” She rose, rolling her shoulders and couldn’t help smiling ferociously at the victorious look on Adam’s face. “Here I come, little man. Remember you asked for it.” She lifted her sword and took a stance. Then rolled her eyes as Adam bowed to her. “Stop that, weirdo, and let’s see you get your guard up!” 

The hours passed faster than she was used to, the click-clack of their training weapons quieting her racing mind. She tried to remember the boy in front of her as he was then. Little face twisted in concentration, tongue poking out as he focused. Taking big gulps of air and water when they stopped for breaks. The way he laughed at a victory, pouted a defeat, and puffed himself up when he insisted they start all over. 

Lonnie had never thought of herself as much more than a soldier but the boy had made her wonder if she could’ve been...or could be still...a half-way decent Sergeant. That wouldn’t be so bad. If her kids were lively and full of character as Adam, she might even grow to like it. 

_Her_ kids. That was going pretty far for someone who was barely training a scrawny little ten-year-old. Her distraction cost her and with a heavy thwack the blunt edge of the practice sword found her left ankle. She hopped on one foot.

“Yow! Ok,” Lonnie laughed, waving at hand at Adam as he advanced, “I give up! I give up!” She rubbed at her right ankle. “Yikes, kid, you got me good that time.” She offered him a tired thumbs-up. “You win. Go, Adam.”

“Ha!” Adam bounced on the balls of his feet. “Train?” She glanced at the clock once more. 1900 hours. Getting on to evening. Dinner soon. And after that sleep. And after that...she didn’t want to think about it. 

* * *

  
  


“Break time,” Lonnie made the T gesture, “time-out.” Adam bounced in place, proud and eager. He was starting to get good at this. The Other One didn’t even need to help him that time. He paused. The Other One hadn’t said much of anything the last few days. Adam hoped he wasn’t gone completely.

**Resting…**

“Ah!”

“You ok, little man?”

**Resting… We fight tomorrow…I must rest... You are so…far…from the sword…**

His sword. He hadn’t even thought about his sword since he’d had that dream with a nice blonde-haired warrior. Something about her words, though he hadn’t understood them, had communicated a feeling of confidence that made him want to try harder. To be better.

_Not. A. Monster._ He thought to himself.

“Boss,” he said to Lonnie, “train?” Lonnie was watching him with that sad look on her face all over again. He wished he could make her happy.

“There’s something I want you to see, Adam,” she said, looking very serious all the sudden, “something…something I think you’re gonna like.” She put her sword away and gestured for him to the do the same. Adam followed, then stopped short at a pensive look from her. She gestured to his tunic and then at one of the wooden pegs in the wall.

“Mmmmm,” Adam said. He didn’t want to give up his tunic again. What if he didn’t get it back?

“Trust me, Adam,” Lonnie said, then she made a little cross of her heart, “cross my heart. No-one will take it. Trust me.”

“Chrr-uh-ssss,” Adam made the cross of his heart…the Other One had a cross shape over his heart. Is that what she meant? Was…was she going to give his sword back?

“T-t-t,” Lonnie said, “‘trust’.”

“Trrr-ust.” Adam said. He liked this word. It was short and easier to learn than most of the words Lonnie used. “O-k….boss.” He shucked his tunic and hung it up. He turned rapidly as hands touched his hair. Lonnie took a step back.

“Sorry,” she said, “shoulda asked first. Can I touch your hair?” She touched her braids. “I won’t yank it or anything. Ok?”

Adam made the trust sign, the Other One’s sign, on his heart, then nodded.

“Ok,” she knelt, gathering his hair in her hands and fixing it into a long, loose ponytail, “and here, you can hold this as collateral for your tunic.” She slipped a plastic ring around his hair that held it together. Adam frowned a little, remembering that the lady of shadows had put his hair like this, but Lonnie was Lonnie. She was the ‘boss’. He could…

“Oh,” Adam said to himself in understanding. ‘Trust’. That made sense now. He let himself relax.

“There,” Lonnie said smugly, “that’s pretty good.” She turned him around and waved him outside. The daylight bounced off the nearby puddles. The rainstorms had finally moved on. “Come on, kid, got some walking to do.”

Adam followed, hunching a little self-consciously against the strange new world around him. The patches of sky he could see were a comforting blue and the hallways they chose seemed mostly empty. When a person did pass them by, a figure in black armor with a hidden face, they barely glanced at him. Another one went by without a word. A third. Adam uncurled.

This…wasn’t so bad. No one was glaring at him. Or running from him. He hadn’t heard the word ‘monster’. What had changed? Did they all like him now?

**Beware…**

“You’re pretty quiet, Adam,” Lonnie said, “how you doing?”

“Um?” Lonnie shook her head but she smiled. She held out a hand to stop him and looked around a large metal corner. Her face tightened.

“Dang it,” she hissed to herself, “I figured there’d be no patrols here right now…we gotta…” she turned a looked at him, “…you know what? We’ll never have another chance, will we? Come on.” She winked. “No guts, no glory.” She strode out, back straight, powerful arms swinging. Adam tried to mimic her, wanting to be as imposing and strong.

They stepped into tall corridor that ran on in a curve towards either end. At a large, sealed door with some numbers spray-painted on it, a person sat-up from where they were lounging.

“Uh,” said the black-armored figure, “hi?”

“Hi.” Adam chirped.

“Sup?” Lonnie said. “You just start your shift?”

“Me?” The figure’s voice was staticy. “No I…hang on. I hate talking through these things.” Blue-hair shook free and violet eyes blinked at the change in lightning. The woman sniffed. “Woo. They've been promising me a bigger helmet for a year.”

“You try cracking the visor on a concrete step?” Lonnie asked conversationally. “That’s how we got new equipment the other year.” The other woman shrugged.

“Nah, our quartermaster on the North Wing has an eye for that kind of stuff,” she grinned wryly, “the jerk, he probably did it himself when he was a grunt. So…there something you need?”

“Listen,” Lonnie stepped forward, “this kid…I’m lookin’ out for him right now, and I was hoping to show him-” the woman laughed. A hoarse sound that still managed to make Adam smile.

“I got ya,” she winked, she looked at Adam, “hey, kiddo, you’re pretty lucky, aren’t you? Gotta big sister like this keeping an eye on you.” Adam grinned in response to her voice. “Goodness look at that smile. And that hair! Your den-sergeant misplaced the scissors?”

“Um,” Adam shrugged.

“Yeah,” the woman laughed, “isn’t that all the Cadets say? Never been outside before, Adam?” Lonnie shook her head and Adam followed her lead. The woman’s eyes softened and made Adam feel safe. “Well…enjoy it, kiddo. It’s never as cool after the first time.” She nodded at Lonnie. “Door’s not sealed. No patrols for like twenty minutes.”

The woman grasped a black lever and pulled the door open, wind rushed in at once.

“Got a good breeze coming from the east,” she said, “should be real nice out there.”

“Adam,” Lonnie said, “come on. Hustle up.”

Adam stepped through the oval aperture and his gasp was lost in the next gust of wind. He and Lonnie stepped out onto an observation balcony, a pill-box shaped construction with a grated floor that let him some very far away ground.

He was high up. Towering overhead were several hundred feet of steel. Below them, a plateau of reddish stone stretched out cut down the middle by a black line of paved road in a man-made canyon.

Beyond that was the whole world.

A half-dozen moons hung low, glowing red and making the surrounding sky blush with crimson. Little islands of rock hovered here and there, casting shadows twice as big on the badlands beyond the canyon structure. He gripped the edge of the railing and stood on his tip-toes. Strong hands grabbed his sides and lifted him. He yelped in surprise and then shrieked with laughter as Lonnie set him on the edge, arms around his stomach like iron.

He squinted into the low light of the evening, eyes trying to adjust to their first view of the new world.

“Pretty awesome, right?” she said. Her voice was above him. He looked back, her loose braids trailed like a mane in the wind, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah, it’s something else.”

“Wow,” Adam whispered.

“See that out there?” She pointed at the canyon and when Adam looked he saw an immense gate of gray metal, with a prominent red symbol painted on it. “That spot is special, Adam, beyond that gate on that big, flat piece of land. The biggest battle in the whole world happened there.” She wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Fifteen years ago. I was like three.” She rested her chin on the top of his head. “You? You weren’t even born yet, little man.”

Adam was the happiest he’d been since Catra had vanished. He leaned back against Lonnie and tried to take in everything in front of him. The badlands went on forever but they looked nothing like his home. Like the gray castle…where was he? How far had he come?

“King Micah,” Lonnie went on, “brought one-hundred-thousand Rebels with him from Brightmoon. And marched on that gate.” She pointed again. “That man you ‘met’ the other day? Sgt. Blue-Crest. He was up here, in this box, on the fifth day of the battle.” She paused briefly, looking the boy over. “Ten days. Heh. How ‘bout that? Ten days. That’s how long that battle took. There must’ve been so many people.”

“Wow,” Adam had caught sight of the distant hook of the ocean, peeking around the land far to the east. So much water. He’d never thought there was that much water in the world!

“Sarge said he was up here when King Micah tried to knock down that big old gate,” she pointed again, “told me once he remembers this big white arrow of people, Brightmoon soldiers, pushing right up against it. Then there was a bunch of light and then…” Adam gasped as Lonnie stomped three times. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” The metal twang of her boots meeting the grate filled his mind. “Boom! Like a giant foot was kicking the whole Fright Zone.”

“Sarge said if he’d actually done it... knocked that gate down…that woulda been it for us. Wouldn’t have mattered if we won. If word got out you could bust open our gates with magic…the whole world would come rushing through it eventually. Look up there. See that long line?” Adam followed her and nodded absently. “That’s the old road. Leads straight to Bright Moon. That’s where they came into the badlands from, the whole army just marched straight for us.”

“The fight only went our way cuz a regiment of our guys from Sand Valley came charging in around the North Wing,” Lonnie pictured it, the giant dust-cloud of eight-hundred Sand Valley Shock-Troopers in full armor, taking the Rebel flank, “there were too few of ‘em, less than one-thousand soldiers…none of ‘em left by the time the battle ended. But when they showed up? The Rebels turned away from our gates and everyone in the Fright Zone came pouring out to hit ‘em from two sides at once. Sarge said it shouldn’t have been enough. But it was. That one little distraction, that one trick, it let us win an impossible battle. Those guys who snuck up on the rebels… they’re the reason we’re still here.”

“Ah?” Adam wasn’t listening anymore, too entranced by the twilight line of night approaching from the north, where the biggest moon was slowly beginning its descent over the horizon.

“First time I ever came out here…I thought he made it all up. This was like twelve years later but I thought…I dunno. I thought there’d be something, right? Big trenches or craters. Scars in the land, or whatever. _Something.”_ She pointed back at the flatlands in front of the gate. “But look. Nothing. Not a single thing. The biggest battle in history happened right over there, and there’s nothing to prove it. Not for the Rebels. Or the Horde. Or those eight hundred soldiers who saved the day…nothing.” Her arms tightened around Adam’s middle. “I told Sarge that and he kinda smiled and said ‘See? I knew you’d say that, Lonnie, that’s what everyone who wasn’t there says. Cuz they can’t believe it.’”

“Ooooh,” Adam was ooing at the changing colors of the badlands, tan becoming blood-red, then becoming black as night fell in the distance. A drop of water landed on his shoulder. He turned in Lonnie’s arms. “Lonnie!” he cried out. There were tears on her face, her eyes never wavering from the horizon.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice firm, untouched by sadness, “I don’t know what’ll happen to you, Adam…I like you, little man, and I can’t believe that.” She smirked at him. “You don’t listen to me when you should…but you try. And you try real hard, _your hardest_ . And it’s not fair what they’re making you do because…because you *could* win a fair fight.” Her face became taut with indignation. “And some stupid people are scared of you. Of how bad you’ll make them look if you win a fair fight… or maybe they’re just angry and they wanna take it out on somebody else… **I don’t know.** I know it's not right. But I can’t stop it. I’ve got orders.”

“Boss?” Adam didn’t complain as he was lifted from the railing and set on the grate flooring. Lonnie kneeled down to look at him, holding his shoulders in her hands. She blinked away her tears.

“So listen up, Adam, cuz your boss is talking right now,” she cleared her throat roughly, “tomorrow? You fight! You fight with everything you got. You don’t run away. You don’t get scared and curl up. Kick ‘em, and bite ‘em, and give them everything!” Her face trembled with emotion but she remained stoic. “Cuz someday? I want somebody to come up to me and say ‘hey, you were there right? When Adam fought? What was it like?’” Her hands cupped his face. 

“I wanna tell ‘em…I wanna tell ‘em they won’t believe what I saw. They _had to be there to understand._ ” Adam reached out and touched her cheek. She tried to growl and laugh and hiccup at once. “Adam, stop worrying about everybody else. It's just…it's just the light up here. That’s all. The moonlight is in my eyes. 

Adam frowned up at her, trying to understand. She leaned on the railing, watching the world beyond them both in silence. The moons descended with imperceptible slowness. The biggest one went last, like a soft sun setting. Lonnie handed him some gray food in the meanwhile and Adam ate in silence. 

Lonnie growled suddenly and sighed. Her tears were gone and her face returned to its resting annoyance. She glanced at Adam. 

“Alright, Adam,” she said, sounding exhausted, “I guess that’s all we can do at this point. Let’s get some rest.” She took his hand and led him back inside. The soldier at the door waved at him as they passed and Adam returned it with great enthusiasm. Lonnie was still strangely silent and Adam tried not to let it make him nervous. After they retrieved his tunic and cleaned up the training room, Lonnie began leading him to another new place. 

It was an odd, long room filled with shelves...no, beds! He goggled at them. There were so many. He’d never shared a room with anyone but Catra. How many people shared this one? The idea was oddly appealing to him. He bet it was nice to be around so many people at once, when you slept. You’d always feel safe. 

He wilted a little. He really missed Catra. 

“I’d let you stay here, kid,” Lonnie sighed as she rolled up a quilt around a pillow, “but they want you back in that cell.” She reclaimed her hair-tie and they returned to the halls. This time, no-one waved at him or passed by without staring. 

_Monster._ Adam thought bitterly. They were back in the dark place with the tiny cells and one of the soldiers said something to Lonnie then laughed in that mean, not-so-funny way that the horned-girl had laughed at Teela the other day. He felt the bitter loneliness in his heart again. Teela.

They had only met for a moment -and she’d spent most of it yelling orders at him- but he missed her a little. She’d said sorry to him, and protected him from that horned girl, which made her a lot like Catra and Scorpia. She was one of the nice people in this place. Whenever they met someone, it was still so hard for Adam to tell from afar who would be nice. 

They were on the flying barge for a few moments and then they were back in the cell. Grim. Cold. Lonely. Adam perked up as Lonnie unrolled a quilt on the floor. 

“Ah?” 

“I gotta get up early anyway,” she shrugged. “If they don’t like it, they can come take me out.” She glared up at the place they’d sailed down from. She pointed at herself then into the cell. Adam peered around her looking for whoever she was gesturing too. No one. How strange. 

“Cameras all over the place, had to see it.” Lonnie stepped back into the cell, waiting. The green wall of light reappeared and she smirked. “Yeah. Figured.” She laid onto the quilt she’d spread out and frowned. “Y’know… I think this floor is actually softer than my bed is. No life like the Horde life.” 

“Ah?” 

“Nothing,” she mimed resting on a pillow, “get some sleep, little man, you’ll need it. Tomorrow is a big day.” The lights turned out and Lonnie tensed momentarily then relaxed. “Sleeping in an empty barracks is so overrated.” 

_Tomorrow is a new day._ Adam smiled at Lonnie, feeling a little guilty. Here he was missing Catra and Teela when Lonnie had been so nice to him. Even if he was a little monster before. How could he...wait, didn’t she teach him a word for this?

“Boss.” 

“What?” 

“Th-tha...thank you.” In the dark of the cell Adam couldn’t see anything. But he heard Lonnie clear her throat and spit. 

“Yeah,” she must’ve been exhausted, her throat was so hoarse, “no problem, Adam. Come on. Lights out. Get some sleep.” It was easier that night with someone else nearby. With the sound of someone else’s breathing. He couldn’t wait til tomorrow. He’d train even harder. Maybe he’d get to go to the balcony again, before his ‘fight.’

Tomorrow would be important. He had a good feeling about it. 

* * *

Editor Note: Hi yall. Thanks so much for reading, as usual. This is just a friendly reminder that we have a temporary hiatus approaching. Next chapter is very likely to be the last before we take our break, and although nothing is written yet, I'm pretty confident in guessing its also likely to be a pretty long chapter. This is a guess based only on how much we currently plan to cover, and if it does go long that's *only* because of how much is happening, not because of especially rambly writing. So, if anything, we'll give you all plenty to chew on while we're gone, which would be cool! Either way, releasing another chapter before the hiatus starts would probably feel weird considering the note we plan to end on, so I think a chapter thats maybe long and definitely eventful is better than two that are both a little deflated.  
  
Very excited to drop it soon, we'll see you all at the arena! ;)


	15. The Circle of Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's day of reckoning has finally arrived. He faces down the terrifying Prince of the Karakoni, and is forced to make a difficult choice that will decide his fate, and define his sense of the word 'honor.'

Editors Note - WELL, I certainly called it when I hypothesized that this chapter would be long. Very sorry for the wait this time, guys, this chapter was a monster that kind of got away from us, and at a kind of inoportunte time what with the 'everything' going on. We are still going on that Hiatus, I'm afraid, but hopefully it will be a more merciful wait, now that you know how this arc of the story ends. Oh, and if you want to ever inquire after us, to make sure we haven't up and left this big baby behind, I've made it possible to ask me stuff on tumblr, so you can go there to bug me about it if you want, or ask questions about PoG in general. Don't be a stranger~ 

spookiookieghosts.tumblr.com

  
Hope all of you are safe right now (and registered ;/ ) and I hope you all enjoy reading. We will see you _later._

\--

Hordak observed through the blast shield and activated the lazer. A searing line of red light, three centimeters in diameter, drew itself along the gray square of scrap steel. In less the ninety seconds it was carved neatly into two diagonal pieces.

His Imp fluttered down onto his shoulder as robotic arms cleared the cooling scraps. Hordak lifted the sword onto the rack where it reflected his red eyes back at him. A proximity alarm interrupted him with a harsh chirp and he waved one hand at the doorway to his lab.

“My lord…” Shadow Weaver trailed off as she entered, “…may I inquire about this experiment?” There was slightest hitch of concern to her voice, Hordak did not miss that. He summoned her with a gesture as if she two were a mere robotic serivtor.

“Observe.” He activated the drilling lazer, a chill of wonder racing up his steel-reinforced spine as the beam skated harmlessly across the blade. The red light faltered, flickered, and shorted out. The blade glowed brightly. Hungrily.

“What in the world?” Shadow Weaver approached, standing at his shoulder, too close for his liking.

“Blunt force cannot harm either. The weapon is an anomaly,” Hordak mused, “but not why I have called you here.” He moved to a wall of monitors displaying blown-up images of yellowed pages and blueprints. The documents the boy had possessed. “This writing is indecipherable. Can you read it?”

“I can investigate it, sire,” Shadow Weaver bowed, “however-”

“If the answer is ‘no’ then say so,” Hordak growled, “I intend to read what is written here.” He marveled at the ingenuity of the blue-prints, not for the first time, and the potential of each invention. The designs were sound but the little paragraphs of explanation taunted him with their mystery.

“I can look it over, sire,” Shadow Weaver stood under his glare for a moment, “…but I can only reliably tell you if I have seen the language before. That is all, I’m afraid.”

“Another disappointment.” Hordak turned to the larger screen across the lab. The cracked glass displayed a shore South-West of the Fright Zone colored pre-dawn gray. The badlands stopped at sheer cliffs to become a flat slope of sand, broken up by the occasional uneven hump of a dune.

The arena occupied a semicircle of carven rock that terminated a shattered pathway of limestone road. The iron-blue sea flickered behind it and the sand around it was dark khaki brown from the rainfall of the previous days.

The ‘Circle of Honor’ was, in fact, circular. A respectable one-and-half-story structure of sandstone that had all the hallmarks of the old Scorpioni Kingdom. Unostentatious construction, curves instead of angles, clearly defined stairwells at each corner of the compass. Two double-portcullis entrances facing seaward and towards the road.

“A fine place,” Shadow Weaver said, lurking at his shoulder.

“Attend to your work,” he growled, “I am merely making sure events are preceding correctly.” A number of skiffs had already docked in two neat rows along the forgotten roadway. One, he observed with an arched eyebrow, bore an immense pallet upon which a tarp pinned under a pile of large chains billowed slowly in the sea winds.

His mind worked rapidly at every possible answer and he curled his hand in an open claw. He twisted an imaginary dial and the world on the screen ran in reverse. The tide flowed backwards to the sea, long ribbons of sand ghosted back into place from where the wind had upset them, and squads of soldiers marched backwards out of the arena to mingle around their skiffs.

He frowned as the pallet-bearing skiff flickered to life and reversed itself into the north-facing entrance of the arena, out of sight. When it emerged again, much later, the early morning had darkened back into near-night blackness. He could make out very little other than a large shape under the tarp. He cursed himself for establishing a single stationary camera the day before. He needed a better view.

He glanced at Shadow Weaver with growing suspicion. She was dutifully examining one of the blueprints. Her fingernail hovered over a line of script. Her eyes searched the design of a single-person air vehicle for secrets. She found a corner scribbling and compared it to the larger image on the screen above her.

Hordak, with a deft movement on the keypad of his left wrist, dispatched a drone towards the arena while she was occupied. It would not do for him to look unprepared. He resumed the present stream of footage. A small skiff trailed a line of sand as it roared in from the Fright Zone. A soldier on the arena’s upper rim signaled it around the far side to the sea-ward facing gateway.

_The boy,_ he thought, _come to end this. Finally._

After the skiff had parked itself by the seaward gate, Lonnie began to check Adam over one last time. She tugged at the edge of his tunic, satisfied it was snug and wouldn’t trip him up in the fight. She coaxed him into letting her tie his hair into a ponytail again. She held him at arm’s length and looked him over. Pants tucked into his boots. Sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

“I guess you’re ready,” she mumbled, then at a thought, she unstrapped the sheath from her boot. She snapped it around Adam’s calf and slipped out the combat knife. She held the edge up to her thumb and pressed it til a thin line of blood beaded around her fingertip. Adam gulped at the sight.

“Dangerous,” Lonnie said and passed the knife into his hand, “but it’s little.” She smirked. “Like you.” She stood up and held out her right hand. “Like this.” He adopted the stance. “Just like when we punch. Show me a punch, Adam.” Adam jabbed the air once, blue eyes following the tip of the knife. “You got it. It’s just like a punch.”

Adam looked behind her, eyes sparkling at once and a smile touching his face. “Ssss-scorpia?” Lonnie turned, heart lifting. If Scorpia was back that meant Catra was back and if Catra was back then maybe this was all called off. Her hopes crashed when she saw the figure descending the narrow stairway.

“I’m lucky to say that she’s my daughter,” Commander Serket said. She offered Lonnie a sad smile. Lonnie saluted rapidly. “At ease. This…this is he?” The pity in the old soldier’s voice seemed a thousand times worse than all the vicious commentary she’d been taunted with that week. 

“Adam,” Lonnie said, “show the Commander some respect. Like this.” She demonstrated a salute and Adam obeyed rapidly, nearly cutting his forehead with his unsheathed knife. “Someone help this child. Put it away when you’re not using it. Knife safety!”

“O-k,” Adam said, gingerly sheathing the small blade, careful not to catch the serrated edge on his pant-leg. He stood up, looking up at her hopefully. She rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Good job,” Lonnie said. Adam beamed.

“Well,” Serket’s voice was bright, but strained, “I’m sure such a tough little thing doesn’t need much armament, but we do have a sword for him. Maurice?” A large Scorpioni warrior in red armor marched smartly down the steps, a shortsword in a leather sheath held in his claws. He stepped past them and knelt before Adam, offering the weapon.

“Wow,” Adam breathed, eyes dancing over the big man. He gingerly took the weapon and smiled. “Thhhh..thank…y-you.” Maurice bowed his head solemnly. Adam looked at Lonnie for approval.

“Yes,” she sighed, “good job.” Adam tried to put the belt around his waist and hummed in thought when it wouldn’t cinch to his small hips. He grinned and looped it over one shoulder like a limp bandolier. He grinned at her, shifting a little as the loose sword slapped his thigh where it hung.

“Great work,” Lonnie said, her spirit plummeting, “great work, Adam.” She turned to Commander Serket and found her watching the boy with a tiny smile.

“Yes,” Serket sighed, “Lonnie is your name, yes? You don’t have to stay for this.” Lonnie watched Adam adjust the sword belt, tongue poking out in concentration as he did so.

“Yes, I do, ma’am.”

“He seems to like you a great deal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“…you’re a good soldier, Lonnie, I want you to know that.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lonnie said, eyes focusing on the arena gates. Serket broke away from them to ascend the stairs but paused at the stairwell. She stood before Adam.

“The best of luck, little one,” she touched his cheek with her pincer, “I hope you prevail. Lonnie, join us at the top of the stairs when Adam is ready.” Maurice added a bow, a little deeper than before, and they departed.

Lonnie and Adam steeped into the spare, narrow inner-wall of the arena. It was dark and felt strangely haunted. Lonnie was aware that, across the arena’s circumference, a giant creature waited. 

“Hey,” Lonnie said, biting down her own emotions, “show me your stances. Come on.” Adam showed them. Two measly stances. A high guard and a mid-guard. He was adapting to the steel, light as the green orichalc sword was, and doing his best. Always doing his best.

And doing far more than he had nine days ago, when he’d barely understood her at all.

“You gotta fight, Adam,” Lonnie said, pointing through the portcullis before them. “Fight.” Adam’s eyes widened.

“No,” he whined. He looked at the shortsword bitterly. “No!”

“Yes,” Lonnie said, using the voice she’d heard her sergeants use, “yes, you do. Fight.”

“Lonnie…”

“This is your boss talking now, Adam,” she said, stern but not angry, “and you gotta go out there and fight.” Adam’s mouth twisted in and out of a thoughtful frown.

“…o-k…”

“I’ll be right up there,” she pointed overhead, “cheering you on.” She gestured at the gate, making a rising motion. “That opens? You go out.” She walked two fingers along her arm towards the arena. She made a fist. “Then you fight. And you don’t stop fighting.”

Adam nodded, still looking like he’d just been grounded for a year. Lonnie ruffled his hair and a smile fought its way onto his face. 

“You got this, little man. You. Got. This. When its over,” she forced herself to lie, “you’ll get to see Catra again.” His popped up, eyes bright with hope. “After.” She gestured away. “After you ‘fight’.” Adam looked ready to protest but settled for a single nod. Lonnie squeezed his shoulder once and turned away.

After climbing what felt like a million steps she emerged into the half-light of dawn. She traveled through the stands to the viewing box, the single adornment the arena had, passing Octavia’s soldiers like they’d spring on her at any moment. Inside she found a spartan collection of stone seats. 

Serket stood at the front, having a full view of the arena and the sea beyond it. A rim of orange light was glinting above the waves. Lonnie had never seen moonrise over the sea before but she was too preoccupied to enjoy it now.

“Finally,” Trapjaw’s deep voice rippled from the dark corner of the room, where he’d been resting on two of the chairs at once, feet kicked up on one lazily, “breakfast time.” He whistled sharply to someone outside and orders echoed along a chain of his prison-troopers.

“Where’s Force Captain Octavia?” Lonnie asked Serket. She followed a pincer to the lowest stands, at the western center of the circular arena. Octavia leaned forward on the rim of the arena, her one eye glaring as the seaward portcullis rose with a screech of ancient gears. It stopped quickly, admitting Adam almost without clearing the ground. 

The boy marched brazenly into the arena, boots leaving a trail of little white crescents to the focus of the Circle of Honor. His purple hood turned this way and that way, taking in everything like he usually did when he came somewhere new.

Lonnie fought down the last desperate urge she had to try and put a stop to it all somehow. The viewing box shook as rusty chains in the walls ground together and opened the portcullis directly beneath them. The cranking filled her heart and her brain until all she could think about was how long it was taking to admit something so large. 

This was it. It was really happening. Her mouth suddenly filled with a bitter, dry taste. The gate stopped and a long moment of utter silence passed. Trapjaw broke it with a snort.

“Somebody needs some waking up apparently,” he growled. Lonnie watched him raise a black remote into the air. He adjusted a dial with a huge thumb and pressed a red button.

An agonized howl ripped Etheria in two.

The soldiers along the stands jolted backwards, weapons readied. Lonnie resisted the urge to close her eyes and cover her ears. Below them the heavy, grating movements of an enormous body vibrated the stones of the arena. Adam saw it first of them all, piercing the air with a shriek of terror.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Lonnie let slip. No-one noticed. They were all too busy watching the Karikoni emerge.

Down in the pit, Adam’s legs wouldn’t move. Something was coming out of the arena’s black depths and it was enormous. Bigger than the Fire-Breather at the old gray castle. Bigger than the eight-legged crawlers he’d seen cross the badlands. A real-life giant.

He saw a corpus of faded red shell struggle outwards and Adam thought it would never stop emerging. It would fill the arena and crush him then spill out to cover the whole world. 

It’s body was a round bunker of carapace, like a horseshoe crab, pulling itself free of the too-small arena gateway with a single five-fingered hand, the digits segmented like a spider-crab’s legs, at the end of a long arm.

Then the claw emerged. It was big even for something so large. A deadly crescent-moon of red shell with stalactite-sized spines on the meeting vector. It opened and closed as it hovered above the body like the head of a red hydra. It bumped the tan walls of the arena and scraped up to hook on the lip of the stands.

A cry of alarm from above sent ten soldiers racing to the spot, forming a shield wall bristling with spears. The hand pressed to the ground and Adam expected the whole earth to shift as the creature pushed itself up off its belly, dragging itself fully out of the arena gates.

**Strike!**

“AH!” Adam jumped in surprise as the Other One. He landed and his legs buckled under him, teeth clicking as he fell onto his behind. He sobbed tearlessly once, overcome with terror.

**You must....fight!** Fight. Lonnie said ‘fight’. He was supposed to fight that.

Nobody could fight _that!_

The monster rose up and Adam beheld an equally invincible belly over squat, square hips. Tree-trunk legs bent armored kneecaps and then it was pulling itself up to try standing on a pair of raptor feet. Triangular, agile, the points like red tree roots pulled from the ground. Aiding it’s shaky stand was a long, fanning lobster’s tail sprouting from the lower back of its shell.

The monster roared, pain making it sound mad with fury. And then it turned its bulk slightly and Adam saw eyes staring back at him.

Enormous, like everything else about the creature. Bulbs of yellow split with slit-black pupils taller than Adam was. They found him and he would’ve run if he’d had the presence of mind. 

In Hordak’s lab, the speakers crackled with the Karikoni’s roar. Shadow Weaver deliberately ignored the outraged snarl from her lord. 

She flexed her fingers and sent Dark Dream off with a silent laugh of triumph. She acted in the moment before Hordak would whirl on her and demand answers, when he was focused on nothing but his own fury.

_Go._ She thought to the dark creature. _Break it’s will and give the boy an opening. Remember, if he survives this fight he will be all yours someday._ The absence of its power left her with a brief touch of vertigo that added to her faux confusion. 

“Sire?” She turned to the screen and thanked her own momentary loss of self-control. It made her eyes widen realistically as she saw the sheer size of the beast. _Hurry, Dark Dream, the boy would not survive even a second._

“Dead gods of Etheria,” she whispered, “is that…surely he’s been dead for years, my lord?” Hordak launched into a terrible rant and behind her mask, Shadow Weaver grinned. “I shall put an end to this farce at once, sire.” Shadow Weaver rose and stopped as stern fingers snatched her shoulder.

“No,” Hordak growled, “this ends today. I will deal with our Warden afterwards.” His eyes flashed. “I swore to Klaw-ful of the Karikoni he would never see the sky again…I have been made a liar! But...let it proceed.”

In the arena, the Karikoni chuffed wearily. There had been a battle long-ago, in the time before the decades of cold darkness, when Klaw-ful, Champion of the Karikoni, had pierced the hull of a Horde Destroyer. Stinking, clinging oil had gushed forth like blood from a steel aorta. The waters of the Sea of Sighs turned black and thick. Swimming through it had been like moving through a slowed version of time. His own body was like a foreign weight pulling him down. Now that sensation was everything he knew. 

Where was he? What had happened? Did the Horde rule the world now, at last? His people. The Karikoni. What happened to them? His eyes burned in the low-light. 

_Mother Karikon,_ he thought to the patron mother-goddess of his people, _oh, my eyes. Was the outside always so bright?_

Then he heard it in the wind. The sudden crash and the hushing retreat. The next wave hit the beach far away. He forgot everything, the soupy mixture of thoughts and the strange lazarus feeling of being thrown back into the world after such monstrous imprisonment. 

A wave crashed again. Klaw-ful did not have the energy to shed tears of joy. 

“The...sea,” his voice croaked like sickly thunder. 

_The sea! The sea!_ He moved, heedless of aught else save the noise. The sea. His home. _Oh. Oh! The sea! Water! Real water! Cool depths and soft, wavering daylight...plankton to feast on. So hungry. Mother. Mother Karikon, let me live to touch the water. To scrub myself clean with the salt and the sand…_

The heavy metal collar around his neck reintroduced itself with a sudden burst of blue sparks. Agony stripped away his slim rebirth and sent him crashing to the ground. 

“Please…”he whimpered, his claw trembling towards the sky, red against blue, “...please…”  
“You know how this works,” his misery sharpened to a spear-point of hate. That voice. He knew _that voice._ Trapjaw. His tormentor. “Kill him and you can leave, freak-show. How bout it?”

_Kill? Kill who? What is this? Where am I?_ Stands. Watching soldiers in their black armor. His eyes hove around place, seeing everything without comprehending. Then settled on a small movement. A human in royal purple. Small...too small. A child!

_No…_

Agony again. The blue lightning scouring his neck and searing down through every nerve ending. He resisted. He was a warrior of the Karikoni. Trained for the defense of the helpless. He defied the Horde. He fought for the freedom of Etheria. Pain was the way of warriors.

“Fine,” Trapjaw’s voice again, sneering, cruel, “then you go back in the cell. Forever this time.”

“Back...back...in….?” Darkness. Thousands of pounds of stinking, sour water pummeling him. Hunger. Isolation. An hour of life stretched to years and years. Until he withered from age but he would live a _long_ time. Karikoni were strong and sometimes could live almost two hundred years. He was still young but, oh, he felt ancient. Older than the islands of his home.

_I am Klaw-ful._ He thought desperately. He stared at the child and tried to ignore the hushing sound of the sea. So soothing. So near. When he was in its waters he’d be free. _I am Karikissa’s son. Klaw-kon’s soon. I am a warrior._

The sea. The call of the sea. So close just beyond the walls. Just past the child. 

Klaw-ful’s heart shattered in his great chest as the boy took a shaky stance. He collapsed forward, face pressed to the hard, rain-toughened sand and hid his eyes. 

“Forgive me…” he said to the boy, to the shades of his parents, and to the world of Etheria itself, “oh, forgive me...forgive...me.” He let himself slide into the battle-state he’d been taught by mentors who’d turn from him in shame for this weakness. He let himself stop feeling. 

The sea was calling to him. And he’d pay any price to return to it. The boy’s eyes widened as he understood what was about to happen. Klaw-ful advanced. The child dropped his sword and ran for his life. He began to climb uselessly up the seaward gate and Klaw-ful crawled after him, lumbering his bulk forward like an animal, too exhausted to stand or use his martial skill. His mind was far away, hiding from his body’s actions.

In the box, Lonnie looked on helplessly.

“Ha!” Trapjaw whooped. Some of his Prison-Troopers joined in around the stands by the viewing box. “Look at him go.” She wanted to knock him down and kick his jaw until it broke and every time he ever smiled or mocked or sneered there’d be a little twinge of pain that would remind of the day he chuckled like an idiot while a ten-year-old was murdered. She forced herself to watch. 

To remember. Adam was barely six feet up the gate when the Karikoni closed the small distance. It rose itself up on one knee and reached out with its claw. As if to spare her the sight, the day-moon rose above the waves enough to blind Lonnie briefly with its light.

“No,” she snapped, “Adam!” She rubbed away the spots in her eyes and threw herself against the stone railing, ducking low so she could see. What she saw made her heart stop.

The Karikoni, a few yards from its victory, had thrown itself backwards diagonally, howling in pain. It’s claw covered its eyes, its hand swatted weakly towards the portcullis. Adam clung to his place, unharmed if utterly petrified, a glowing outline of light around him.

“What in the world,” Serket breathed, leaning forward a little.

“No,” Trapjaw growled, teeth clenching like he’d just missed the winning goal by a centimeter, “no-no-no!”

The light. Yudiah’s moon-light. The words Shadow Weaver had said came back to her. _He hasn’t seen daylight for thirty years..._

“Heh…ha..ha-ha!” This wasn’t a good laugh, she knew that, but it drew from her. “Locked up in the dark for thirty years.” The daylight must’ve been like a burst of acid to its weak retinas. She cupped her hands over her mouth.

“Adam!” Adam uncurled a little as the words reached him. “Fight! Fight it!”

“Mmmmm,” Adam shimmed down carefully, never looking far away from the writhing red monster. It’s pitiful trumpeting noises were so loud. So big. He crept along the upturned sand and retrieved his sword, wincing as the daylight bounced off it.

“Oh,” he said in understanding. The light. The light had hurt the monster’s eyes. He watched, wary but fascinated, as the creature dragged itself away from the long rectangles of light the portcullis admitted. He retrieved his shortsword. Maybe if he hit it a little bit it would go away.

“Yaaaaaah!” With a tiny cry lost in the din of the monster’s howling he rushed at the nearest limb, its left leg, and swung hard. He vibrated as the shock of striking the shell shivered up his arms. The sword dropped to the sand and he heard the monster pause its cries. “Ooops…”

With a desperate roar the monster spun towards him, its wide tail tilling the sand in the shape of a scallop shell.

**….the sword…**

Adam heeded the Other One and snatched the hilt in his hand, scurrying the only direction he could: directly under his opponent. He was in the shade of its belly, hemmed in by its huge limbs. The monster kept turning in a circle, trying to swipe at an enemy that wasn’t there and Adam followed him until he started getting dizzy.

He poked experimentally up at its stomach, grunting when his sword pinged off the thick carapace.

**…joints…**

“Ah?”

**Joints!**

“Ah?!” An image flashed in his mind. Times he’d scratched at his elbow. Or his knee. “Oh.” 

He tossed his ponytail out of the way and squared himself up. He squinted in concentration and grinned when he saw a pale flash of soft tissue at the groin of the monster. It’s left hip-joint spread when it moved and Adam tensed, sword ready. He nearly lost his nerve. He couldn’t possibly hurt something so big.

_Catra._ He thought. If he won he could see Catra. He grit his teeth and stabbed with all his might. He was so much smaller than the monster the sword barely touched its flesh, but where it did it sank it far more easily than he expected.

The monster reacted at once. It’s howls choked off at a high-pitch and it scuttled backwards, away from the pain. Adam followed, pulling his sword free and gagging.

“Ewww,” a stinking, blue ichor stringed off his blade. He shouted at his attacker. “Stop! Shoo!” If it would leave him be, he wouldn’t hurt it any more.

**ATTACK! DO…not…Stop!**

“Ah?”

**…you…are…so far... from me...**

The monster stopped and Adam bounced off the underside of its tail. The light outside vanished as it’s huge claw under to grasp for him, like a man swatting at a mosquito. Adam yelped and pressed flat to the ground, ears ringing as the huge claw snapped mere inches above him. He was glad he was so little or he’d have been chopped in halff, but he was trapped

_Nowhere to go. No one to save you. You’ll never see Catra again._

Adam gasped and shook his head, eyes flickering around the shaded space. Red eyes with black pupils glared at him. A little shadow of darkness bubbled atop the sand like a puddle of tar.

_Not here. Not like this. You are mine, Adam, and only *I* will be the one to destroy you…_

It leapt past his ear and he tried not to rear back lest he rise up straight into the snapping claw. He saw the black shape splash against the monster’s broad belly and vanish into thin air.

“Uuhh,” he moaned. Now Dark Dream was here too. This was easily the worst day of his life.

The creature stilled above him and then clicked curiously. Adam froze, trying to make himself invisible by sheer will. The monster turned right and clicked. It spun it’s face left, its body creaking as it did so. It turned with a crackling growl and then yelped as it was scorched by the daylight once more.

Adam cried out and hurried out from under it as it threw itself backwards onto its knees, claw covering its eyes once more and double-jointed fingers digging at the top of its head.

“Ah,” Adam gasped. He backed away until his tunic scraped against the far wall of the arena. The monster shook, gibbering, and then wailed as the blue light sparked around its neck once more. It threw itself back but it had nowhere to go and there was an awful echoing crack of stone as it broke a seam through the arena wall with its flailing. The soldiers up top scattered like startled insects. It’s yellow eyes swam with fear.

There was a voice in Klaw-ful’s head and it was hissing diabolical things.

_Failure. Weakling. You have no honor left. What are you fighting for? They’ve been enslaved for three decades. They’ve forgotten their hero. They don’t remember you enough to hate you anymore. You are lost. You are nothing._

“Noooo.”

_There will only ever be pain and darkness and solitude. You should’ve fought to the death when they took you but you were too much of a coward!_

Dark Dream hissed with gluttony as it broke the spirit of Klaw-ful. So richly prepared with decades of torment. There were morsels of war underneath that and it dredged those up like rotting bodies from the ocean floor to putrify in the burning light. Fires along the shoreline. Loved ones lost in the deep, never to be found. His home destroyed and desecrated. His world long gone and, with this last selfish cruelty, lost forever.

And shame. Sweet, tantalizing shame. The image of a human. A boy-child staring at him in horror. The clarity of his aching heart as he chose between killing and going back to the cell.

_What would they say of their champion when they learned he murdered a child for his freedom?_ The shock collar buzzed and sent a swell of despair through his prey that became a tidal wave of defeat.

“Kill him! He’s right there! What are you doing!” Spit flew from Trapjaw’s mouth as he shouted. Lonnie expected the remote in his hand to break as he jammed his thumb on the red button. The shock collar on the Karikoni sparked to life and sent the creature into another fit of pain that ended only when it collapsed fully onto its back, mighty limbs wheeling pathetically in the air.

Yudiah rose fully at last and the daylight filled the arena like a bowl. It touched the Karikoni and transformed him. Lonnie gasped and wonder grew in the back of her mind, eclipsing all her other emotions.

“The shell,” she whispered, “they really do decorate it.”

“With their life’s achievements,” Serket said next to her, “the poor thing. He’s rabid with pain.”

The light rebirthed the colors under untold years of grime. Greens, blues, whites, and whole pallet of others. The shell brightened them and became such a hot, fiery red that Lonnie couldn’t take her eyes away if she’d wanted to.

The designs on the arms and legs were too far away. The back-shell was pinned under its slowly weakening bulk. But on its belly was a proud mural of defiance. The winged symbol of the Horde was shattered, consumed in a blue ocean painted on its belly. On its chest there was a collection of white-sand islands. A claw rose behind it, cradling the moons of Etheria, Yudiah at the center like the prize jewel of a crown.

It was beautiful. It was unlike anything Lonnie had ever seen in the Fright Zone and a rush of sadness touched as she realized that it would need to be destroyed.

_Focus, soldier. Focus. You’re at war right now._

“Adam,” her voice rang out clearly, the Karikoni’s moaning had become quiet, “finish him off.” The boy was entranced by the colorful decorations, of course, for he’d never seen anything like them either. “Hey!” He turned to look up at her. She drew a thumb across her neck. “Do what you gotta. Kill him.”

“K…K..kill?” Adam blinked, speaking quietly to himself. The monster wasn’t attacking him anymore. He wanted to leave. To see Catra.

**…sur…vive…you…must…kill**

“But…”

An image flashed across his mind, the Other One was showing him again, a memory from the old gray castle. The beast-man howling as it vanished into the chasm of the bottomless moat. The talking skull spitting useless curses as it fell in to. 

“ _Kill you!”_ It whined in its high-pitched metal voice. _“I’ll kill you!”_

Suddenly it was all he could think about. The skull. It’s purple cloak and its horrible, metal voice. It had been so angry at him. Had wanted to kill him for no reason. Adam licked his dry lips and tried to will himself somewhere else. Wherever Catra was. It wasn’t fair! When he finally felt like he could be safe, happy the world kept trying to kill him!

**Do not…waste time!**

He’d only see Catra again if he survived. If he killed.

He shuffled forward, boots digging up sand, aware of the deathly silence in the arena. He was certain, despite how impossible it was, that if he looked behind him he’d find the talking skull there, grinning at him from the sand. 

“Get up!” The blue-man was shrieking from overhead, shattering the quiet. “Kill him! Kill the little freak!”

“Um,” he stopped, “uh…ah!” With relief he realized the shell was too thick. He couldn’t hurt him after all. He almost laughed with happiness. An image. The Other One in his mind again. The eyes. The giant yellow eyes. The point of Adam’s sword.

“Oo,” he squeaked, nauseous. He couldn’t do that. That was awful!

**Adam.** The Other One’s strained voice soothed him. **I know…I’m sorry…but you must…you must. Or he’ll…kill…you.**

He crawled up the prone monster’s broad belly, trying not to get distracted by the colorful engravings, failing at that.

He had to scuttle on his palms and knees to get up to its face and paused as his hands pressed over the big moon at the center of his torso. Beneath it he felt the rapid lub-dub-lub-dub of its gigantic heart. Soon it would be still. Adam would make it go still.

The collar sparked as he neared the face. The monster winced.. _.He._ He winced in pain, shocked by the collar. The person -that’s what he was, Adam decided, no matter how he looked or sounded or made him feel- this person was so hurt already he barely twitched as Adam knelt a few inches from his neck.

He shuddered and opened his thin eyelids. Adam could see how tired he was and that made him strangely angry for having to fight. Adam didn’t do want to hurt him but now he had to...had to...

“O-k,” he said, “its…o-k.” The warrior under him saw the blade and tried to hold firm but at the last moment, gave into terror and squealed with its huge voice. His claw covered his face and bubbling pleas spilled from him. 

“Hey,” Adam said, “hey!” More pleas. Weak. Unintelligible. He remembered a moment like this. Hiding behind his hands and his hood, when a stranger was yelling in his face. But Catra didn’t kill him then. Even though she could’ve. She helped him. Made him believe in a kinder way. 

“Adam,” Lonnie called.

“No,” he mumbled to himself.

**Adam…you don’t understand…**

“No!” He screamed at the Other One. There was a scraping of movement, the warrior peeked at him warily. Adam stood and tossed the sword away. “No.” The giant, black pupils expanded as it understood him. Adam sat, hugging his shin and hiding his face against his knees. 

“No,” he said to himself.

_Yes!_ A voice hissed in his ear. Dark Dream appeared from the person’s chest, blotting out the little moon on it like an inky eclipse. It skittered up Adam’s leg like a black spider and latched on the back of his neck.

_Yes! You will! I told you it doesn’t stop here!_ Adam grasped at the spot under his ponytail for a second then his hand began cranking slowly down toward his calf. Toward the knife Lonnie had given him. _You will do this, and if it pains you so much the better. You do not get to show mercy to this weakling after what you did to me!_

“You!” Adam growled. Dark Dream deserved what it got. It was a monster. A real one.

_You should’ve killed me, boy, but that was your mistake! Now this is the consequence! This is your fault!_ He groped with his left hand, feeling it go numb as Dark Dream tried to control him, if he could grab something and hold himself in place he might shake free.

His searching fingers found a long ring of solid metal around the red warrior’s neck. He grasped it like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a floating beam. The audience in the viewing stand watched him in amazement. 

“What’s going on?” Lonnie muttered to herself. “What are you doing?” She saw Adam’s bare hand touch the shock collar and she turned to watch Warden Trapjaw react. He grinned and pressed the button. The Karikoni thundered with pain.

“You,” her feet moved like they were in quicksand, her fists curled, “rotten cheater!” The world sped up suddenly and her knuckles met his jaw. Trapjaw pinwheeled his arms and tumbled over a stone chair. Lonnie paused, distracted by her own audacity and the throbbing pain in her hand. Trapjaw’s huge fist came rocketing towards her. A pink pincer stopped it an instant before it landed.

“Warden!” Serket’s demeanor had changed. Her kindliness was gone and the cold fury that replaced it chilled Lonnie to the bone. “Lonnie!”

“That’s interference!” Lonnie shouted.

“Shut your mouth, trooper!” Trapjaw snarled.

“You shut it,” Lonnie barked back, “you just can’t win a fair fight, huh? Everyone in this place has to dogpile on a little kid! You’re weak, Warden, and more than that you’re a coward.”

“Trooper!” Serket’s voice made her snap her heels together. “Far side of the box now!” Lonnie backed away, shaking with adrenaline and the slow realization of everything she’d done and said. She’d just called an institutional officer of the Fright Zone a ‘weak coward’.

_Dang._ She thought. _Thought I’d at least live to be twenty-one._

The moment of peace stretched to a lifetime. In that second when the electricity, the dark whispers, and the blistering light had vanished Klaw-ful had been wrenched fully from the mindless place of battle. He was back in his body, left starkly surrounded by his own painful memories.

Mother Karikon. The islands of his home. The war. The trap. The perdition he’d lived since his capture. Then the water filled his mind once more. The waves. He could smell it. Salt. Baking sand. The light. The scorching light was Yudiah. Queen of the Moons of Etheria.

And overhead. Mother Karikon be praised…that blue eternity above him, traced with ivory softness, that was the sky! The sky! There was sky overhead again. 

The child lived, crouched atop his chest. Hair like gold. Eyes like drops of clear water from the Bay of Home, between Karikon and the Little Sister Islands, where Klaw-ful had been taught to swim.

“Who?” He breathed, ragged and overcome, “Who are you?”

The boy did not answer, he was being electrocuted with enough voltage to stun a Karikoni yet it had no clear effect. He was struggling with an invisible force to wrest control of his hand back. A blot of darkness leapt away from him, hissing in the daylight, to vanish like a heat mirage. The boy blew a raspberry after it, laughing triumphantly. 

Outside after so long with sand, gritty little grains of wonderful sand, getting inside his shell. With light, too bright but so warm, filling him with a heat he’d forgotten existed. With the sound of the sea in his head once more.

The tide. The Karikoni believed their dead lived on it that sound, calling to the living without cessation. 

All of this passed in a moment and came to an end at a little noise of surprise from the child. The boy squinted, his cheeks puffed up, and, hugely for his small size, he burped. His blue eyes seemed to glow momentarily and he stretched his arms with a pleased ‘mmmf’. He noticed Klaw-ful staring at him.

“Hi?” the boy said. He sounded unhurt. All that electricity and not a sign of anything wrong with him. 

“What...” Klawful heard himself reply. The boy frowned and cocked his head. But a moment later, the boy raised a hand and waved. 

Raised voices drew his eye to the viewing box of the arena he was trapped in and his mind went sour with hate. Trapjaw. Then his instincts flared and he plucked the boy off his shell with his hand, disregarding his squeal of surprise. Klaw-ful struggled to his knees. So tired. So much weaker than he’d been once.

He had to kill the child to survive. He had to. But the tide was in his head and with every push and pull of water it began to soothe him. The saltwater washed out his terror and rushed in with a reminder. 

The boy had spared his life. 

“Kill him! Go on you stupid monster! Kill him!”

“Trap-jaaaaaaw…” he rumbled. He’d kill. He’d kill most certainly. He summoned his strength and roared. He found his feet, revived by the warming sand underneath them. The world shook as he walked and he reached out towards the viewing box with his claw. The boy was yelling in his hand, hair flying in every direction as Klaw-ful’s arm swung at his side.

Klaw-ful’s nerves flared with pain as the shock collar buzzed to life. His claw, numb and alien on his arm, smashed aside stones like wooden blocks.

Inside the viewing box Maurice tackled Lonnie to the ground with one arm and Commander Serket with the other, shielding them with his armored body. The man grunted softly as a large piece of rubble clanged on his right pauldron, warping it badly. Lonnie was staring into the open sky, trying to figure out just what in the world was happening.

With a heavy scrape and sonorous groan of effort, she watched the Karikoni brace its fist on the edge of the destroyed box. It’s fingers uncurled and something flopped out of it.

A little voice coughed amongst the dust and crumbling stone.

“Adam?” She asked, not quite believing it. Adam was pulp. He had to be. But the hearty sneeze she heard sounded an awful lot like it had come from a ten-year-old boy. She slid out from under the pile of Scorpioni.

“Boss?” Adam stepped out of the dust cloud, rubbing at an eye like he’d just woken up from a long nap. He put his hood up against a few pebble-sized bits of sandstone and in the shadow of his hood, Lonnie could have sworn she saw his eyes glowing a bright, lightning-blue.

“You…might be the luckiest kid in the world,” she said, snapping out of her trance she rushed to him. He was totally unharmed except for a few bits of rock and sand dusting his cheeks. He smiled at her as she fussed over him.

“Catra?” He asked. Lonnie coughed a laugh as more dust got in her mouth.

“No, you little troublemaker, she’s not…not…oh, wow.” A sea breeze drifted in and scattered the last of the dust to reveal the scene of carnage. The Karikoni was alive, wheezing ponderously and holding itself up by hand and claw dug in the arena stands and partly into the viewing box. Octavia’s soldiers were racing down into the arena itself, setting up a respectable semi-circle to pen the big creature in.

“Guess you won, kid,” Lonnie said, joy bubbling up in her chest, “you won!”

“No,” Trapjaw growled as he pulled himself up. He was bruised all over but nothing looked broken. They’d all gotten off easy, Adam most of all, and the Warden seemed even more ready for blood than before. “No. My fighter’s still in it! Watch!” He lifted the remote and pressed the button.

“Don’t!” Lonnie yelled. “It’s still holding onto the stone!” The Karikoni shuddered in agony and a small earthquake rocked Lonnie off her feet. She barked as her hip smashed into a carven seat and could only reach out vainly as Adam tumbled away. 

Trapjaw fell and the remote skittered across the sandstone, bumping into Adam’s side. Naturally curious, he picked it up and squinted at it thoughtfully. Trapjaw was up and snarling, snatching Adam’s smaller hand in his own, Adam warped himself around the blue fore-arm, eyes flashing.

“No!” He clung to the big man’s arm, dangling in the air and coveting the remote. “Mine!”

“Fine, I’ll finish this myself!” Trapjaw reared his arm back, ready to flatten the boy against the nearest stone wall. Lonnie grasped a promising piece of sandstone and hucked it through the air. It smashed into Trapjaw’s knee and toppled him like a tower.

Lonnie grinned and turned over with a pained twinge in her hip. Serket was settling Maurice into a chair, minding his injured shoulder and sent Lonnie a stern look..

“Structural integrity compromised, ma’am,” Lonnie said, smiling nervously, “we should get clear, huh?”

“Adam’s getting a head start,” Serket sighed, matronly lines of stress appearing on her face. Lonnie turned and found the boy in question sliding down the smooth surface of the Karikoni’s claw, then down it’s broad back. 

“Uf!” Adam hit the sand a little harder than he meant to and his tailbone took the punishment. Strange. He’d felt invincible a moment before. He distracted himself at once with the strange contraption he’d ‘borrowed’. He followed his instincts and pressed the big red button. The red warrior squawked and Adam gasped in horror.

“Ah! Sssss-orry!”

“Please….stop...” responded the red warrior, shifting in place against the arena wall. The stone under his claw gave way, collapsing a whole stand of rubble into the hollow inner-workings. Adam was so entranced by the destruction he wasn’t prepared when strong hands clasped around his own.

“Hold still,” the squid woman growled in his ear, “I’m helping you out here, kid. See?” She twisted the dial. “Give it more juice and…” she jabbed her thumb over his own, the red warrior wailed.

“Stop!” Adam struggled, she was so strong he couldn’t budge.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” she twisted the dial all the way and let him go, Adam spun and fumbled in surprise, “this part you do yourself.” Adam rose carefully, backing away with a little growl deep in his throat. The one-eyed woman pointed at the red warrior.

“Ah?” She drew a thumb across her throat. Adam gulped and turned to look at the helpless creature. He gasped when he saw the picture on his back.

The rounded shell featured the carven image of a mighty sword. Almost like his own. Blue-steel but with a gold hand and a sapphire set into the hilt. It was flanked by spears and encircled with a line of gold.

It comforted him somehow. Made him think of a time when he’d felt safe and secure. The image vanished as the warrior turned in place, resting heavily against the crumbling wall of the arena. Yellow eyes beheld him and snapped to the remote in his hand. They trembled in fear then went still and the warrior turned his face towards the sea.

His filmy eyelids shut and Adam could tell he was listening to waves.

“Listen good,” the one-eyed woman said, she was right behind him now, “I got orders to keep this all on the right track. I follow orders. I’m a good soldier.” She knelt, hissing in his ear. “So…take that remote. Press this shiny, red button and get it over with.” She made a guttering noise of anger in her chest. “Plenty of time for me to get payback when this is over.” Adam slunk away from her with a feral hiss.

“Adam!” Lonnie’s voice called down. She was poised at the crumbled edge of the viewing box. Her face was twisted in pain as she clutched at her hip. “Do it.” She nodded. “Go on.”

“Kill him, runt,” the squid-lady snarled, “so we can all get on with our lives.” Kill. All they wanted from him was to kill.

“Do it,” Lonnie looked agonized by her hip as she spoke, “do it and you get to see Catra again.” She drew a thumb along her neck. “Then Catra. Ok?” Adam paused.

The red warrior’s eyes opened and he groaned a little as he let the daylight bathe his face. His hand dug into the sand, making a fist around it. The Other One spoke up weakly from his mind.

**Do…it…**

Adam raised the remote. Cocked his arm back and hurled it against the arena wall. The little snap of it shattering filled the silent air. The red warrior blinked at him.

Klaw-ful was unsure if he was dead or dreaming or if any of this wasn’t some hallucination he was having, still trapped down in the dark cell.

The boy held his life in hand and shattered the remote. After everything he’d done. The boy had chosen mercy. Twice. In the Yudiah’s light Klaw-ful saw him, such a little thing, with tears glistening on his cheeks. The boy sniffled.

“No,” he said, voice cracking. He growled at himself.

“Just some little kid,” the Force Captain looming over him said, “just some scared little kid. Crying like a baby. Go on, kid, cry. See if I care.” A ripple of cruel laughter followed Klaw-ful into a black wave of unconsciousness.

“No…” Klaw-ful moaned quietly, “no.”  
“My son?” A deep, soothing timbre spoke above him. Klaw-ful’s eyes opened. The sky was dark. A moonless hour when nothing lit the sea or the shores of the Karikoni Islands. Still his mother’s ivory shell was incandescent. The mural on her chest was a huge tidal wave. In the wave her family- _his_ family-rode the rising water. Never being submerged, never being scattered. Those who rise with the wave do not sink beneath it. 

“Mama?” Klaw-ful looked beyond her. The beach before him was familiar. The palm trees. The little rise in the land where white sand gave way to green underbrush. A wind from the ocean, clean and cool, rustled the dark green landscape. The tide was there behind it all, breaking and calling out to him. 

There were burial mounds around them. Shattered spears, twice the height of a tall man lay at each. They were all empty. The bodies of their warriors had been lost in the sea. Klaw-ful stared at the nearest one and in his mind he saw a Karikoni with a dark-blue shell and yellow eyes like his own. His father. He was in a memory. The night they’d held a funeral for his father. 

“Klaw-ful,” Karikissa said to her son, “you were crying.” His mother. 

“No,” his voice was small, youthful, “I wasn’t!” He’d been so ashamed for letting her see him cry that night. His mother was their war-leader. His father had been called The Guardian for his strength. She was gone too now. Taken from him by the Horde years later. But she’d been so strong and it had seemed impossible. 

“You were.” Her voice was so kind. He’d missed it. 

“Warriors don’t cry!” 

“Klaw-ful,” she hugged him. She was the size of the entire world, cradling him against her. “Never say that. Warriors cry. They cry for others.” The memory evaporated when a sharp circle of electricity pressed into his belly and pushed hard. He keened at the touch. 

“He’s still alive,” a voice grumbled through helmet-speakers.

Klawful blinked and found the world as he’d left it. Horde Troopers surrounded him, started chattering about how and in what way they should chain him up. The ruined arena in daylight. The stalking fear of being taken back into the dark. 

Beyond him, a Sigh woman with one eye barked at the boy-child.

“Put ‘em on,” she snapped, holding out a pair of small handcuffs, “don’t even give me an excuse, kid.”

“No!” The boy’s voice was defiant. Petulant. Klaw-ful remembered being that brave once upon a time.

“What a let-down,” a nearby soldier grumped, “they’re both alive. What happens now?”

_Alive._ He thought. _Yes. I’m alive. And the sea is near._ He tried to shift and two more shock-staffs joined the first in paralyzing him. As he faded again he heard a Trooper chuckle.

“This guy was so big and bad way back when? Please. He’s nothing.” Klaw-ful blacked out. 

Above the pit Lonnie limped out of the viewing box, sighing dramatically when she found the nearest staircase buckling under the shifting weight of the crumbling arena wall.

“Ah,” Serket groaned, “there goes five centuries of history…well, I did want this here. This is my fault. Maurice, don’t try to stand on your own, dear, I won’t give you a medal for it.”

Octavia’s crew had quickly taken over. On the far side of the arena, Trapjaw was being helped by his handful of guards, swearing up-and-down to kill Adam himself.

“This boy is always making friends,” Lonnie groaned, “I gotta get down there.”

“Lonnie…be careful.”

“Heh,” she cringed as she moved, “bit late for that.” She began to make her way the long way round, trying to figure out how exactly she’d make it into the arena itself. Octavia was shouting at Adam and Lonnie moved quicker, despite how it hurt her hip. “Hang on, Adam, you’re not in this alone…”

“Last chance,” the one-eyed woman growled, she dropped the shiny cuffs at his feet, “put ‘em on and sit down.” Adam picked up the cuffs and hawked loudly. He spat and a thin string of saliva shot out of his mouth and swung down onto his chin.

“Aw!” he whined in disappointment. He wiped it off and rubbed it on the cuffs, then hurled them away. “Nyeh!” The woman’s face broke into a sharp-toothed smile and Adam remembered he was surrounded.

_Ooops,_ he thought. He squeaked as some tossed his sword onto the sand at his feet. The crowd around him laughed. 

“What?” The woman chuckled. “Thought I’d make you fight without it?” Her eye glowed with menace. Adam scooped ups his weapon. “Let’s get you tucked into a tiny grave, dead-boy.” She straightened up sharply. “Lieutenant Dagda, how do you find the prisoner?”

“Force Captain Octavia, I find him hostile,” an armored woman said, “uncooperative and a danger to Horde personnel. I recommend immediate physical restraint, ma’am.”

“Didn’t ask for your suggestion, soldier,” Octavia said, “physical restraint might lead to certain accidents.” She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles, her tentacles whipping the air around her. “I’ll take this one myself.”

“Kill him, Cap!”

“You’re in for it now, kid.” The soldiers pressed in, pinning the two combatants against the wall of rubble.

“I got him!” A reedy voice whined. “I got him, cap, I got a score to settle!” The battalion groaned collectively. Mantenna emerged. “This brat threw me down a flight of stairs!”

“Get out of here, moron,” the Lieutenant barked. Octavia rolled her eye.

“No,” she shrugged, “go ahead. It’ll look better on a report anyway.” Mantenna rubbed his palms together eagerly, disturbing, bulging mustard-yellow eyeballs focusing on Adam.

“Ew!” Adam said, backing away.

“Kid’s got standards,” Octavia chuckled. Mantenna closed in and Adam felt the world turn fuzzy. He must’ve been too thirsty or tired, everything seemed slower. Then it all seemed floaty.

“Wait what the…”

“Oh, jeez, his eyes are…moving!”

“Yes!” Mantenna cackled, reaching his hands out for the hypnotized child, “Behold my powers. Surprised aren’t you? Well since nobody talks to me no one knows my devious, befuddling mind control ray! When I move my eyes like-”

“The single,” a soldier interreputed, “nastiest thing I’ve ever seen in my…yeah, I’m gonna hurl.”

“Please, dude, stop doing this!” Mantenna’s teeth set in a furious, humiliated sneer.

Adam swung his sword or that was the plan.But the ground and sky decided to change places suddenly and he fumbled. It was like his hands were on backwards.

“Come here, kiddo,” the spindly, bug-eyed thing hissed, “gonna make you regret ever coming to the Fright Zone!” Adam swung again, blearly seeing the world in a huge swathes of color. He slumped to the ground, mind like cotton, and stared towards a long hill of red.

“Ah!” he called out for help. “Ah?” 

Klaw-ful stirred and saw a lone child trapped on all sides. His own captors had turned. Slavering sharks smelling blood in the water and ready to frenzy. The boy was their prey. The boy who spared his life. Who’d cried over his pain. He recalled the lesson his mother taught him with sudden clarity.

_Warriors cry for others. They feel for others. Fight for others._

“Stupid kid,” one of the soldiers sighed, “its what he gets for trying to fight everybody all alone.” 

“No,” Klaw-ful rumbled. They turned, shock-staffs swinging into place, a moment too late. A sweep of his arm sent them sprawling. “He...is...not.” The crowd of soldiers around the boy began to whirl at the commotion, Klaw-ful rose, surging with new purpose. He was weak. Diminished. But he was Karikoni and that meant he was strong, strong, _strong._

The odd soldier with the four legs turned his bulging eyes upwards as the shadow of Klaw-ful’s claw overtook him. The razor spines glinted, the soldier tripped backing away and smacked his head on a piece of masonry. His bulging eyes crossed as he fell unconscious. 

“Little ones,” Klaw-ful rumbled, rising slowly to his feet, his claw and hand swept out to pull his great weight upwards. He braced against the wall behind him. “Tiny...little ones...tiny Horde troopers like black bugs in the sand…”

They were entranced by his revival and too shocked to attack. Klaw-ful rumbled a deep laugh from his chest, a watery noise like an sea-mine exploding. They were too young to remember when Karikoni ruled waves and terrorized their comrades. 

“Have you ever...fought…” he breathed heavily, “a Karikoni?” They shuffled into place slowly, carefully. Uncertainty was visible in their body language. “No?...I...will...teach you!”

He hurled himself forward like a breaching whale and the Troopers ran screaming in every direction. 

“Whoa!” Adam took a single step back as the red warrior struck. “Ohhhh!” He somersaulted as the red warrior crashed onto the ground. It was like an earthquake! Then the warrior began to fight.

Every movement sent people running for cover, or if they were too slow sailing through the air. Every part of his body was a weapon. Claw, hand, and swinging tail. Like the Other One. Every twitch was an attack. Spears bent on his hard shell, joints protected by how he lay prone. Zaps of electricity coruscated harmlessly off the red surface. 

It was a dervish of combat. Spinning in a circle, roaring with pride at every strike. Adam looked around for Lonnie and spotted her up in the stands, looking gobsmacked. He called out to her.

“Lonn-eeeeeeee!” Something slimy and thick twisted around his ankle and pulled him across the ground. ‘Octavia’, the squid-woman with one eye.

“You think I forgot about you,” she said, “I’m gonna pop your head right off your shoulders!” Adam gave up scrabbling for purchase and twisted in place, clenching his teeth as sand got up under his tunic, into his shirt, and down his pants.

Easily. Absolutely. Most certainly. The worst day of his life.

Octavia whipped her tentacle, flipping him onto his belly again and slamming him once into the ground. The wind left him in a wheeze.

“Stupid kid,” Octavia said, “just like her. She took my eye. You took my pride. Not anymore. Not anymore!” She lifted him off the ground and wrapped his other limbs up. She was going to pull him to pieces if he didn’t do something.

He had no sword. No help. The red warrior was too distracted fighting all the soldiers…he had to save himself. He flexed his right hand and gasped as it touched the hilt of the knife on his thigh. He grabbed it and pulled. Octavia shrieked, green blood dripped off the tentacle unraveling from his waist. 

“You brat!” It let him go to slap him like a switch across the face. Tears sprang from his eyes and he sobbed twice, overcome by the pain, he let his weapon slip from his grasp. The cut tendril wrapped around his throat and Octavia dragged him close. Her eye cut dangerously at him. 

_Eye!_ He thought. A weakness like the Other One had shown him! He snapped his free hand out at her face. He gave a strangled yelp as she caught his hand in her own and squeezed it hard. 

“Nice try,” she chuckled, “but I learn from my mistakes, kid. You and that fur-bag friend of yours have caused me no end of grief. Around here people come after you when you look weak...I’m not letting my soldiers get disrespected. anymore!”

Adam gagged and gasped as the tentacle constricted around his throat. Lonnie hadn’t prepared him for this. He couldn’t fight like her or the blonde-haired warrior or any of them! He wasn’t strong enough. All he knew how to do was hide and run and hiss. The smell of Octavia’s blood filled his nose. If they didn’t want him as a warrior he’d fight like a little monster.

“I felt that thing here,” Octavia hissed, “that whatever it was in Horde Square. That thing in my head. You did that didn’t you?” She was practically shouting through her teeth. “You did that to me! To my troops!”

Adam, as if nodding, bobbed his head in place then sunk his teeth into her tentacle right where he cut her. She let go of his hand to grab his whole head. He struck out and winced as he poked the rubbery orb of her eye with his pointer finger

Octavia bellowed so loud he thought he’d go deaf. Her tentacles constricted around him, threatening to break his bones.

“…h-e-l-p…” he rasped. A shadow fell over them and slammed Octavia to the ground. Lonnie rolled over teeth tight with pain, both hands grasping at her injured hip. Adam was free, hacking loudly and gasping for air.

Octavia somersaulted, still blind, and tackled Lonnie to the sand. She pressed her whole weight down and grasped her head between her powerful hands. Adam stumbled to his feet, rushing over with a rasping growl.

The soldiers were grappling viciously, Lonnie clawed at Octavia’s hands and spat threats through her clenched teeth. Octavia’s tentacles were slithering back to life, preparing to strike down on her. Adam grabbed Octavia’s black tank-top at the shoulder and she turned her face toward him.

He punched once, his hand throbbed and he yelped. Octavia laughed mockingly at the impact. He punched again, hissing when he bruised his knuckles.

“You punch like a little baby, kid!”

Lonnie’s trapped right hand flicked the tip of his boot twice.

“Rawr!” He stepped back and kicked the big woman in the face once, twice, and then a third time. His leg hurt too but he decided kicking hurt less than punching.

When he taught someone how to fight, that would be lesson one.

“I’ll…killlll…kill…” Octavia dribbled several serrated teeth and then her body gave out. She slumped on top of Lonnie, drawing a moan of discomfort from her. Adam’s boss wriggled free, covered in dust, sweat, and not a little green blood.

“Sand Valley Shock Troop Regiment,” she huffed at him, “you save a few of King Micah’s Rebels for me, little man?” Adam lunged at her, buried his face in her shoulder and squeezed her tight.

“Boss!” He squeaked with joy. “Thhhh-ank you!”

“Ok,” Lonnie pushed him back gently after a moment, “enough of that.” A trumpeting wail drew their attention. The world shook as the Karikoni fell backwards into the South-western section of the arena and sent a dozen huge cracks ripping through the architecture.

Octavia’s veterans closed in armed with their shock-staffs. The dozen or so soldiers left standing attacked with a will, jabbing the Karikoni viciously in his unprotected joints.

Adam growled and raced at them, feeling Lonnie’s hand try and fail to snatch the back of his shirt.

“Adam, get back here!”

The red warrior had helped him. Like Lonnie had. Like Teela had. Like Catra had. He was sick of letting other people save him and not being able to do anything when they needed help. He could fight, even if he didn’t like it. He’d fight if it would help.

If it was to help he’d act even if he was scared. 

He charged the nearest trooper, covered head to heel in black armor, and dug his heels into the sand when the veteran soldier spun in place, alerted, and jabbed the staff straight at him. Adam whuffed as it hit his thin chest and pressed him to the ground.

Adam grit his teeth as the trooper loomed like a great crow, hands wrapped around the staff pinning him. Green light sparked and volts entered his body...and he felt something familiar. The rushing sensation of power...like the times when he’d called out the Other One. 

He had no better ideas, he raised his voice and yelled!

“By the Power of Grayskull!”

Lonnie watched all this in a horrified daze. Adam wasn’t getting lucky again. The tiny body was tensed on the ground, bathed in the green light of the shock-staff. The soldier pressed home harder until the crackling energy started fading. Lonnie remembered, through concussed daze, something similar happening in Horde Square.

“But that was the big guy,” she said to herself, as if that had been an established rule, “he needs the sword! Right?”

The shock-staff hissed as it’s battery drained completely and the soldier took a cautious step back, his confidence flagging. Adam’s hands sprang up to grasped the end of the staff. The soldier’s grip tightened instinctively. 

Supine, Adam jerked the weapon once. Lonnie was not imagining it this time. His eyes were glowing a radioactive blue. The staff levered and a grown man swung into the air like a wet towel before slamming headfirst into a heap.

Lonnie pinched herself on the arm hard enough to leave a bruise and found herself still wide-awake. Adam sat up, looked at his hands with wonder and then a stony determination. 

He hopped to his feet and rushed the next soldier, pushing at her leg, and she went off her feet for a full two yards before landing. When she sat up, groping for the knife in her boot, Adam pounced on her and slammed her helmet onto the ground. She made an ‘unf!’ sound and went still.

“Eyes up! Hostile coming in!” The nine remaining troopers turned from the Karikoni and charged as one. The giant roared at the chance and swept aside six with his claw. The last three rushed Adam with a war cry intent on slaying at least one foe. 

They picked the wrong target as Lonnie observed. 

The first trooper lunged to tackle the boy. He slammed into the little body like Adam was a steel beam. He started clutching as his right shoulder, static speakers crackling with howls of pain. Adam hadn’t budge an inch and when threw a quick jab at the trooper’s head the plexiglass visor shattered as the metal dented inward beneath a tiny knuckle. 

A metal staff bashed at Adam’s temple and bent into a L-shape. The last two troopers stepped back, looking between him and the broken weapon. Adam locked eyes with them and gave a puppy-dog growl. The troopers shared a look.

“Ok, y’know what? Screw this.” They turned and bolted for the farthest stairwell. 

Adam blew a raspberry after them and looked around for his next opponent. Slowly, his shoulders untensed as he realized, against all the odds, he was the last one standing. He shot a look at Lonnie and pointed at himself.

“Ah?”

“Yeah,” Lonnie snickered, loopy with disbelief, “way to go, Adam.” His face split into a wide grin and he pounded both fists on his chest, puffing himself up proudly.

“Ah, Boss!” He raced over reaching out to scoop her up with his absurd strength. 

“Hey, no-no, no using your magic on me!” It was a moot point. When he tried to lift her she barely budged and when he stared at his hands again, his eyes were quite a normal, non-glowing, shade of cornflower blue. “Sorry, kid, I think you’re out of juice.”

“Awwwwww!”

“Some people would be happy with the temporary invulnerability and super-strength but not you, huh?” She sighed and rubbed at her aching hip. “Guess that’s how you survived the crash earlier. Juiced up by that shock collar.” She found herself breaking into relieved laughter. “You little magic weirdo.”

Lonnie snatched him into her arms.

“Hey!” Adam laughed, growling playfully as she noggied his blonde scalp, he wriggled against her grip but couldn’t break away. Not that he was trying very hard.

“Come on,” she teased, “you can just pick me up and throw me, right? Let’s go, muscles, let’s see some magic.” Adam’s giggling brought more laughter out of her and, surrounded by no-one conscious enough to see, she left herself squeeze him in a tight hug.

“That…that was incredible. That was awesome, Adam!” She laughed into his hair. “I’m so _proud_ of you!”

“Ah?” Adam smiled. “P-pprrrow-dah?”

“You’ll get it,” the full weight of their victory hit her and her face split with a smile, “you’ll get it…you’ll have all the time in the world to get it.” The earth trembled and a groan of effort echoed out into the sky.

The Karikoni moved like a collapsing building. He crawled away from the wall, mindful of his defeated foes on the ground, and dragged his bulk to the broken wall where he’d first crushed the viewing box. Warden Trapjaw was long gone and Lonnie could see no one else around. 

The giant didn’t pay them any mind. Patiently, methodically it shoved large stones out of the way until it could find a few sturdy spots of arena to scale. Lonnie was transfixed by the play of its segmented armor, the engravings twinkling in the light, and the sheer vertigo of seeing some so large move vertically. It crawled over the wall and fell to the ground outside with another ground-quaking thud.

“Well…I guess you win by default?” Lonnie said. Adam helped her stand and they crossed to the seaward gate. Outside they heard, and felt, the Karikoni taking slow, ponderous steps along the sand. Through the double-portcullis they watched it step gingerly towards the shore.

“This is the first time he’s been outside in like thirty years. What do you think is going through his head?” Adam made a few thoughtful faces and mimed eating. Lonnie snorted. “Yeah. Probably.” The Karikoni became rooted to the spot, staring at the sea, his giant red body standing out starkly against the vast green waters.

The size of the Karikoni, made Lonnie realize how vast the sea was. She wondered if anybody would ever find him again when he submerged. He could go anywhere once he made it.

“Come on,” she said to herself, getting second-hand anxiety, “don’t just stand there, idiot, go if you’re going. Go!” The indecision was killing her. “Are you dizzy or something?”

“I have a feeling like we should probably try to stop him,” Commander Serket stepped out of the darkness of the inner arena, Maurice leaning on her side. “But I also do quite enjoy living.” She watched the Karikoni. “Overwhelmed by the choice. Maybe he’s afraid this is all a dream?”

“Ah!” The three adults looked at the child. Adam closed his eyes and cocked one his ears to the side. Then nodded at the Karikoni.

“Listening to the waves.” Lonnie said and, for a moment, she closed her eyes and did so as well. It was peaceful. It was a sound older than the Horde. Older than the Scorpioni who built the arena. The waves had hushed up and down the sand long before Lonnie or Adam or anybody she knew was born. It made her feel small but not in a bad way. 

Adam was small too. And he’d accomplished the impossible. 

A whine from the north grew into the air a moment later.

“Skiff,” Lonnie said.

“Catra?” Adam asked hopefully.

The Karikoni came alive and stumbled forward, a desperate huff rippling out from him as he ran drunkenly for the waterline. The skiff roared into view and closed the distance in a moment. The Karikoni roared in defiance and turned, one claw raised to smash the vehicle into scrap metal.

Then he froze once more. Lonnie was confused until she saw, almost lost against his red shell, the scarlet touch of magic.

“Shadow Weaver,” Serket breathed for all three of them. Adam jolted and Lonnie held him still.

“Lonnie!”

“You can’t help him,” she said, turning a stern eye on him, avoiding the sight, but not the sound, of the Karikoni collapsing to the beach outside. It was like a dynamite charge going off. It sent tremor out that collapsed a section of the arena wall and covered the world in a dust cloud.

The skiff docked. Catra, without thinking about anything or anyone hopped off the deck and began marching towards the exit. A deck-officer intercepted her. 

“Hang on, Cap,” she said, “you need to de-brief-” Catra grabbed the front of her uniform and hurled her sideways into a pyramid of oil-drums. She wasn’t thinking about the consequences. Scorpia was apologizing to everyone she shoved through a few steps behind her. 

An armored figure barred her exit. A Scorpioni in full red-plate armor. Catra scowled. 

“Move.” She unsheathed her claws when she was not obeyed. 

“Wait!” Scorpia ran up, puting herself between them. “Akil? What are you-”

“The Commander sent me, Force Captain, the boy lives,” the man said, “you are wanted in Hordak’s throne room immediately, Force Captain Catra. If you’d like I can escort…”

Catra was already running on all fours.Scorpia began to jog after her. 

The journey was a blur of people cursing her as they leapt aside. Bots turning to observe as she loped past them. The day-moons winking from behind the stagnant skyline as she moved closer to the Tower of Lord Hordak. Her mind was one thought.

_He’s alive._

Her plan could still work. Would still work. She’d get her payback on Adora and her new friends. She’d conquer Etheria. She’d get whatever she wanted. And the little blonde booger was _alive!_ Alive. She dug her claws into the concrete and stopped herself at the base of the Tower steps. She sighed and fixed her hair a little, made sure her mask was on right.

“Let me do the talking.”

“Oh, wow, thank you,” Scorpia wheezed, gulping loudly as she came up behind her. “ I was really scared I was gonna have to start off. I have a stitch in my side that feels two miles long…”

They ascended the staircase neatly, arriving to find two Horde Marines guarding the doorway. After exchanging salutes the doors slid open and the Force Captains entered the throne room. It was packed tight with people and she heard Scorpia cry out in surprise at something off to the side.

Catra wasn’t focusing on that, her eyes had zeroed in on a long ponytail of honey-blonde hair. Adam turned, looking curious as ever, and his eyes turned into a sparkling blue fireworks display when they landed on her.

“Catra!” He shouted, announcing her to the room. She fell into an easy smile. Adam rushed forward from the crowd. Or tried to.

“Catr-aack!” A chain yanked him back and Catra began to take in the scene around her. The little boy was collared with a metal ring, which acted like the hub of a five-spoke wheel of chains. The leads were gripped by a circle of Prison Troopers, braced and ready to keep the boy in one spot. Adam grunted and tugged at the leads.

The manacles on his wrist jangled in harmony with the ones on either ankles. Catra idly wondered why she wasn’t surprised the Horde had child-sized restraints like that. With a glance at the empty throne she shoved aside the crowd and confronted the nearest of Adam’s captors.

“Key,” she snapped, “now.”

“No way,” the man said, voice shaking, “you weren’t there! You didn’t see what we saw! No chances with this little monster!”

“Ah!” Adam cried at the man, voice cracking with indignation. Catra’s hand found the guard’s throat and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed, “did I say ‘now?’ I meant to say ‘now before I break your neck’. Sorry. Long skiff ride. Little tired.” She shoved him backwards and looked around at his comrades, smiling when no-one dared challenge her.

The guard fumbled at his belt and practically tossed the keys at her. She let him go and made a shooing motion at the others. The chains rattled to the ground as they all stepped back.

Catra crouched down to be eye level with the boy. The closeness was working in her favor this time. Before, when everyone had seen a vulnerable child, it would’ve made them both look weak. Now the almost humid sense of caution in the air told her that showing off her easy connections with the kid would be permissible.

Like demonstrating that a crocodile won’t bite you. And it gave her a chance to wink at him.

“Booger,” she teased, “what’d you do while I was gone? Were you a well-behaved little berserker?” She got the collar off his neck, the manacles off his wrists and ankles. Adam squealed in delight and freed his hair from the ponytail, shaking it out to hang wildly down to his lower back. 

He had a few extra pounds of weight on his face and stomach. His lips were cherry red and his eyes seemed livelier. Water. Food. A place to sleep. He looked like any snotty little rug-rat. So vulnerable and curious. 

“Miss me?” She asked softly.

“Catra,” he whispered, bursting with happiness. 

“I knew you’d win, Adam, I never doubted for a second.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So where’s the poor shmuck they made you fight? In the incinerator already?”

“Fight?” Adam cocked his head and then grinned. “Oh! Ah.” He pointed behind her. Catra turned and made an embarrassing squeak of fear. She hadn’t been paying attention to the room at all and now she saw where half the tension was coming from.

Huge yellow eyeballs looked down at her. A giant crab-lobster-man amalgamation towered over her and still had to duck its rounded head to avoid scraping at the huge cables crisscrossing below the archway. The green helix-lights cast its red shell a strange pale yellow at the armored curves. It was wearing a whole dungeon’s worth of chains, each link the size of a hubcap. 

Catra pointed at it and then at Adam. ‘That?’ she mouthed. 

“Catra,” Adam said pointing at her, then pointing at the giant monster, “Kl..klaaa…” Adam blushed shyly and shrugged at the creature, “sss-sorry. Kla-kla-awwww-off-ul.”

“I...am…,” the creature rumbled, “Klaw-ful.” Catra laughed before she could stop herself.

“Like,” she said, caught between terror and amusment, “like claw-awful?” She mimed a claw with her fingers and sputtered. “That’s your name? Klaw-ful?”

He moved. His chains rattled cacophonously. The crowd around him surged back with cries of alarm as a claw several-times her size leveled an foot from her nose. The creature nodded once, yellow eyes daring her to make a joke.

“Klaw-ful,” he thundered casually, “and...you...are...?”

“Catra!” Adam tweeted happily. Beaming at them both. Catra patted the side of the razor sharp appendage.

“Very nice to meet you,” she said with a nervous smile, “but if you’re here and Adam’s here who won the fight?”

“A fair question.”

Klaw-ful’s black eye slits thinned and turned furiously towards the voice. Lord Hordak emerged from his lab at a brisk walk, Shadow Weaver trailed behind him to lead a parade of figures down into the crowded room.

She saw Warden Trapjaw, Octavia, supported by one of her Lieutenants, a white-haired woman who could only be Scorpia’s mom, and limping to bring up the rear-

“Lonnie,” Adam said, worry coloring his tiny voice, “Catra!” He tried to tug her forward by the hand but she held him firm. Danger made her ears go flat and her tail flick nervously. She had a sinking feeling the day wasn’t quite over yet.

“My lord,” she stepped forward and bowed politely, “we’ve completed our mission. A resounding success.”

“I am not interested in that just now, Force Captain. Things have not gone according to plan today.” 

_Crud. Crud. Crud. Crud-crud-crud!_

“Sire?” Catra asked with a frozen smile. Hordak’s glare held her to the spot for a moment, before they shifted around the room.

“We are the future of this world,” he said, voice low as a lurking predator, “when I permit individuals to take greater part in the Horde…it is not a gift.” He sat flush against the high back of his throne. “It is not a reward. Nor is it a privilege that comes with special dispensation.” He turned to Shadow Weaver, standing tall and ominous at the base of the throne steps. “What were my orders, Shadow Weaver?”

“That the boy be tested and thus the question of his status in the Fright Zone resolved.”

“And did this happen?”

“No, sire,” Shadow Weaver seemed calm but Catra knew what roiled beneath her tone from experience, “it did not.”

“Wait,” Catra cut-in, “what are you talking about?” Shadow Weaver narrowed her eyes at her dangerously. 

“Force Captain Catra,” Hordak took over, “were you aware the boy had magic power of his own?” Catra pursed her lips and tried to come up with the best answer

“…yes?”

“Catra, now is a bad time to misspeak,” Shadow Weaver’s eyes flashed as she spoke, “did you know, prior to this, that Adam himself could exhibit traits that _you_ ascribed to his bizarre Alter Ego?” Catra’s lips peeled back in a disbelieving grin as she understood.

“The meathead? No, why?….wait,” she turned to Adam, awe-struck, “you can do what the big guy does? Lightning and all that?” Her mind raced with the possibilities. The sheer potential.

“Obviously this is a surprise to her, my lord,” Shadow Weaver said, “not itself a surprise considering Catra has no training in magical theory.”

“Yeah,” Catra waved her hand, still grinning, “yeah-yeah. You think I’m an idiot and you like to remind me. Can we get back to ‘the ten-year-old I captured for us can do magic’?” Forgetting herself in her elation, she pinched gently at Adam’s cheek to tease him. “Way to hold out on me, booger!”

“Ah,” Adam chirped, giggling as he pulled away.

“Enough,” they both gasped in unison at Hordak’s voice, “in that case, Force Captain, you will remain silent until I say otherwise.” Catra saluted.

“Sir, yes, sir.” She was almost shaking with excitement. With luck, she’d be speaking to him a lot in the future. Her tail flickered over and batted the back of Adam’s tunic at the thought. Future. He had a future.

“Warden,” Hordak growled, Trapjaw stepped forward, body almost trembling with barely repressed rage, “going around my orders is no different than disobeying them. When I told you to find a suitable opponent, was your first choice the Karikoni?”

“I...am...Klaw-ful!” The voice rang like a bell through the room. “I am...righ here...tyrant!” 

“You will be silent!” Shadow Weaver snapped, Catra pressed her teeth together out of reflex. “Lord Hordak will deal with _you_ in a moment, prisoner.” Red light flashed around the giant body and tore a wail of agony from him. The Karikoni’s eyes filled with the kind of fear-weakened fury that Catra knew from personal experience.

_Oh, really? You’re gonna feel bad for that thing?_ Her hand reached out in the secrecy of the moment to rub softly at Adam’s scalp. _He’s probably scared. This will relax me-him! I’m trying to make him feel better. I’m fine. Just…_

“Catra,” a little voice whispered, Adam grinned at her, “hi!” _Just fine._

“Shhhh, booger,” she pressed a finger to her lips, “shh.”

“Warden,” Hordak snapped, reconquering the room’s attention, “I wish to know from you directly. Was your choice to send a prisoner I, myself, sentenced to a lifetime of solitary confinement to fight a child for his freedom a deliberate insult? A play at petty revenge? Or should I commit this choice, which insults my intelligence, confidence in my officers, and the strength of my rulings, to sheer poor judgment on your part?”

“Was this a malicious act,” Shadow Weaver purred, “or an incompetent one, Warden?” There was a pause as Trapjaw ground his teeth audibly. 

“Are you a traitor,” Shadow Weaver prodded further, “or merely an imbecile?”

“I’m loyal!” The Warden insisted.

“Incompetence.” Shadow Weaver floated forward a few feet, hand curling to cast her binding magic. “Say it, Warden.”

“I was incompetent,” Trapjaw’s beady red eyes looked at some point on the floor with the intensity of a nuclear explosion.

“You will retain your position,” Hordak growled, “on probation. Another infraction and you will lose your rank. And perhaps more. Wait silently for dismissal.” Trapjaw bowed, Catra guessed, to hide the way his face contorted with anger.

“Commander,” Hordak sneered at the white-haired woman, “former Commander Serket. What do you have to say regarding the incidents at the arena?”

“I had no idea that the fighter would be so dangerous or so very strong,” Scorpia’s mom clicked her heels together, looking unafraid, “I take responsibility for not insisting on a more secure location when that was made clear to me.”

“Hmmm,” Catra could’ve sworn Hordak face looked pained briefly, “I understand you prevented a fight between the Warden and the soldier who trained the boy?” Catra glared at Lonnie.

“Lonnie, you did what?!”

“Really,” Lonnie growled, “right now, Catra?”

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver’s voice whipped the air, “ _right now,_ Catra?” Catra mimed zipping her mouth shut. Seething in her mind. _If she messed this up and makes Adam get banished…_

“It was a scuffle, sire, tensions were running rather high. I should’ve kept them separate to begin with. The fault on this is mine.”

Catra glanced behind her, Scorpia had been quiet and she saw why now. The big Force Captain was chewing the end of one pincer from sheer nerves. It looked so weak. It made her angry to think how she’d been on the verge of a meltdown earlier.

She petted Adam’s hair once more; calming herself with the action. The kid was a vulnerable spot. She’d made no secret that she wanted to use him for the war effort. People could take advantage of that if she wasn’t careful. 

“And how does one punish a retired Commander?” Shadow Weaver asked, with an inflection that insinuated she had several promising ideas.

“No,” Hordak said curtly, “it is enough to hear it from her. Serket,” Hordak said, “I am disappointed you could not handle this better. But considering that the prisoners did not escape and there were no fatalities I leave the matter here.”

_‘No fatalities’._ Catra looked at the little boy under her hand. He had started digging carefully in one jug-handle ear, eyes squinting as he worked an uncooperative ball of wax. 

“I live to serve, my lord,” Serket bowed with a regal sweep of her arm, “my bodyguard Maurice acted very bravely today, sire, if I could recommend-”

“Later,” Hordak waved a hand, teeth already baring themselves at his next target, “Force Captain.” Catra froze briefly at his icy tone but realized he wasn’t calling on her.

Octavia pushed herself up to her feet. Catra winced at the way she wobbled in place. She looked like she’d been beaten half to bits.

“You failed to secure the arena,” Hordak said, his anger taking on a soft quality that seemed somehow worse than a yell, “you failed to keep the prisoners in custody. You failed. Utterly.”

“Yes, my lord,” Octavia croaked out.

“I have no need of a Force Captain who can’t do what is required of her.” Catra’s stomach flipped. The room drew in a quiet breath together.

“…it…has been an honor to serve, my lord.” Octavia’s voice was rough already and now emotion threatened to make it inaudible.

“You will clean out your quarters today,” Hordak said, “and then you will report to Central Processing for reassignment to a barracks in the general infantry. At Trooper rank.”

“I thank you,” Octavia said stoically, “I thank you for the honor to serve in the Horde.”

“My lord,” Lieutenant Dagda rushed forward, throwing herself on her knees, “please, sire, you have no better Force Captain! I failed in my duties today as XO! Please, she’s served you so long and-”

“Dagda!” Octavia thundered. “Get up! Get in line! How dare you talk out of turn. Your next Force Captain better have nothing but good things to say about you or I will hunt you down myself!”

Dagda reacted in perfect soldierly fashion, turning to salute her former leader sharply. In her eyes, Catra saw not fear or anger, but a deep sense of longing. A shimmer of pride. A little fading light as her last hope died.

“Let me explain something to you, Lieutenant!” Octavia snarled, grabbing the woman by her shoulder and wrenching her in close. An uncomfortable tension filled the room as the former Force Captain dressed her XO down at an inaudible hiss.

Inaudible to most save for Catra.

“Cap,” her sensitive ears heard the Lieutenant’s agonized whisper, “we need you…”

“Keep them together,” Octavia whispered back, “the family is all that matters. I forgot that today and this is what happens. None of us are safe. We’re all expendable. We’re all we got. Make sure those idiots in the infirmary don’t get the news last.” She barked suddenly. “And you better believe I mean it, mudsucker!” She saluted Lord Hordak. “I respectfully suggest the detachment remain as it is and that Lieutenant Dagda be considered for promotion.” Dagda’s hand rose to her forehead in salute, pausing briefly to clench at her heart.

“Hardly your place to suggest-” Shadow Weaver began.

“Shadow Weaver,” Hordak’s voice was less angry, more stern, “enough. Octavia, I see no reason why you should concern yourself with my decisions. If I intended to disband the unit I would’ve said so. I may still. If I choose. That is not your concern anymore.” Hordak considered her. “You are dismissed.” 

Octavia’s sigh was full of relief. As she made it the doors, Hordak spoke up abruptly. 

“Octavia, what is the Horde?” 

“The Horde,” Octavia turned, back straight with pride, “is order.” Octavia left with her head held high. 

There was a pall in the air as Hordak stared after the departed Captain then he drew himself up, the unreadable, distant Lord of the Fright Zone once again. He faced the Karikoni. Klaw-ful met him eye-to-eye. The hatred crackling between them was almost visible. A part of Catra wondered if this was how it looked when she met Adora face-to-face.

Another part of her wondered if it was even worse.

“I swore you’d never see daylight again,” Hordak said, “you’d never know the smell of the sea or the touch of the sand. I declared that you, Klaw-ful, would wither and die over the years, not in battle. Not the warrior’s death I know you craved.” He scowled. “And yet…I also gave my word the victor of this fight would go free.”

“Oh,” Scorpia breathed behind them, “oh no. No.”

“I keep my word,” Hordak said, “and this fight is not yet resolved.”

“My lord!” Catra stepped forward, mind racing for some solution. Adam made an inquisitive noise next to her still totally oblivious to the fate that was being woven for him. “Please, Adam has powers! Potential! Hasn’t he proven he’s capable?”

“For one to succeed,” Hordak snapped, “another must fail. This is an immutable law of nature, Force Captain, now be silent. Or I shall revoke your commission as well?” He glared at his ancient enemy. “Well, old foe? Dare you seize the chance to be free? Have you learned humility under the scourge of my power?”

“I...will not!” Klaw-ful thundered brokenly.

“Then I imagine the boy will have to kill you,” Hordak mused, “if you insist on defying.” Hordak sat back in his chair. “Surely life is precious to you? Or do you enjoy your accommodations so much?”

Klawful’s next retort died in his throat and the giant warrior’s yellow eyes suddenly filled with unseen outcomes. Catra watched, moving unconsciously between Adam and the Karikoni, as he reached some resolve. With a stern, unwavering countenance he shuffled about to face her, his chains rattling hugely.

“Force Captain,” Hordak’s voice cut her to the heart, “step aside and let this happen. I will not be defied a moment longer.”

Catra couldn’t look Adam in the face or offer him parting words. Her tail dipped briefly and wrapped around his hand for a moment as she stepped away.

Then, in her mind, she thought of him as already gone. He had to be. The choice Klawful had was too easy. She knew the choice she’d make, if it was her life on the line.

Klawful struggled forward and outstretched his hand, the huge spider-leg fingers moved until they were a few inches from Adam then two came together and pointed skyward. Adam gasped and then cheered loudly.

“What?” Catra said. She saw Adam, hopping up and down, spinning in a circle, blonde hair flagging and catching the dim light in little glints of dark-gold. The Karikoni shut out the world around him, watching the boy with a strange, inexplicable fondness. Lonnie about jumped into the air as she spun to face Hordak.

“He’s giving up!”

“Giving up?” Hordak growled.

“That-that means, my lord,” Lonnie saluted desperately, “that means he surrenders. Concedes the fight.” Lonnie looked thunderstruck. “It means…Adam won.”

“Klaw-ful,” Horak said, teeth grinding, “is this true?” He frowned darkly at the chuffing laugh that billowed from the Karikoni’s chest.

“I...cede...to the better...warrior.”

“Do not make a rash decision,” Hordak seethed, “I am not to be mocked.”

“I...could...speak...of integrity,” Klaw-ful’s voice wavered and cracked as he spoke. Like Adam’s, Catra realized, it had gone unused a very long time, “I could speak...of...honor....but I know...where I am...who you are…who _I am.”_

He glared at Hordak with a thin hiss of disgust. His eyes crawled down to Shadow Weaver and turned like lighthouses over all the Horde soldiers in the room.

“The light...burned my eyes... ” his gaze seemed to settle on Catra, “I was deep inside...the abyssal trench...that sunken place...that devours light...that forsakes belief for...survival!” He spat the word. “That place becomes...darker the deeper...you dive.” He looked down at Adam, so very small compared to him. “Until the light on the water’s surface...hurts your eyes...and you choose the depths…”

“Hmmmph,” Shadow Weaver sounded bored, “very moving, prisoner, are you quite finished?” 

“You…” his yellow eyes burned at her, “are a...coward...who fights...for nothing. Take me back. The reek of that cell...is fresh air...to the stench of weakness...in this room!”

Red lightning formed a coruscating cage around him and the Karikoni bent his whole body like a bow, roaring in pain.

“Shadow Weaver.” Hordak said.

The magic stopped. The mage bowed low to Hordak. 

“He could not be allowed to insult us further, my lord, forgive me.”

“Warden,” Hordak waved a hand at the sulking man, “take the prisoner back to his cell. For the rest of his life he will remain there.”

“I!” Klaw-ful shouted, voice wheezing with pain, “Do not! Fear!” He turned a final defiant glare, shivering with nerve damage, on Hordak. “I...am strong! Stronger...than you!” He slumped forward, catching himself on his knees and his giant upper limbs. “I am...a warrior...of the...Karikoni…I! Choose! The surface!” 

Catra saw the mural on his back. The sword there was, unmistakably, inspired by the same sword that had stolen Adora from her. She sneered at the giant fool, hating him in that moment. Reveling in his pain. 

“Ah,” Adam tried to step forward as soldiers prodded the giant out of the room with a dozen long spears. Catra snatched his shoulder and held him still with a little growl of admonishment. 

“Don’t,” she whispered, “that idiot is no-one to cry over.”

“Boy,” Hordak said, dispersing the spell the Karikoni’s exit had cast, “approach.” Catra urged him forward, placing either hand on his shoulders. “Up.” He gestured. Catra frowned and began to walk them towards the throne’s steps. “Alone. Up, boy.”

“U-up?”

“Go,” Catra whispered, “I’m right here, ok?”

“O-k,” Adam said, nervousness breaking through his voice. He climbed the steps slowly. One at a time.

**Go. Up. Stay strong for one moment more.**

The Other One was back, in the fullness of his strength, and Adam tried to take comfort in that. Catra was back too but no-one was letting them go away and be together somewhere less scary.

Adam was tired. He was achy from sleeping in that cold cell for so long. Days at most but…how long since he came to this strange place? It felt like he’d never been anywhere else. Like the old gray castle was simply a dream he’d had.

**We’ll be free soon. We’ll find a way home. I swear it.**

“Mmmm,” Adam hummed uncertainly. But…Catra was here.

“You seem determined to remain alive,” the Lord was saying, “and I am beginning to wonder what might befall my soldiers if I simply tried to order you executed here and now. Doubtless the roof would collapse.”

“Um?” Adam knelt, one fist pressed knuckle-first to the ground, head ducked and eyes closed submissively. “My lord.”

“Not yet,” was the Lord’s reply, “there is a final test for you. One that you cannot avoid. Submit or prove yourself unworthy.” He reached into the shadows of his throne and withdrew something.

Adam gasped as the blue metal of his sword shone, managing to catch even the small lights of the throne room and mirror everything. He saw himself in the blade, slowly grinning, cheeks fuller and eyes more alive than he could remember them being when he lived alone. The sharp point tacked loudly against the stone dais and the lord leaned the hilt forward into easy reach of the small child.

“Take it,” he breathed, “take it if you dare. Prove to me you’re ready to submit.” There was a startled movement behind Adam and the Lord turned blazing eyes on the crowd of people.

“If any of you move for that doorway,” he roared, “you will die here and now! This child will not hold us in fear whatever his power.” He turned back. “I am in control here, boy, always. Of everything. This sword. Your life. All of it is mine by right of strength and conquest. Take it. If you would have it back you must _take_ it.”

**Take the sword. Let me set us free.**

Adam hesitated. Something felt wrong about this. Why would they just give it back? What was the Lord saying?

**It doesn’t matter! Take the sword! Use the power!**

His fingers fiddled with the bones of his tunic.

“Take it.” The Lord dared.

**Take it!** The Other One pleaded. 

Adam knew if he had his sword he’d be safe. No-one could bully him or shove him around or yell at him or anything. He’d be strong. Stronger than anybody. He could even keep Catra safe if he wanted to. His reflection smiled a little.

He missed it, that was true. It was like his tunic. He wouldn’t ever really feel safe without it. And if the Lord was giving it to him…his fingers reached out, twitching to touch the metal once more and feel safe in a way no-one could take from him.

Lights moved in the reflection before he made contact. Gold and blue. Catra. Her eyes catching the light like his cub’s always had. He glanced down at her face in the mirror of the blade’s fuller. With the barest movement, and eyes swimming with concern, she gave him a clear but furtive shake of her head.

“No,” he whispered to himself.

**NO! She means to use you! To hurt you! Trust me, not her! You must trust me!**

Catra had helped him so much.

**She is a danger! They are all dangers! Only I am able to protect you!**

Catra made him laugh.

**The sword. Take it! I swear things will be different this time.**

“Boy?” The Lord asked. “Adam. Take it or do not.”

“Adam,” Adam said to himself. Catra helped him remember his name. The Other One had always protected him. But Catra had done so much.

He winced with guilt at the way the Other One howled when his fingers curled back and he stepped away. He shook his head, setting his face seriously.

“No.”

A gust of air sighed out of the watching crowd. The Lord laid Adam’s sword across his lap and searched him carefully.

“You belong to the Horde now,” he said after a moment, “and you will make yourself useful.” He scowled. “Your...choice…to spare your foe’s life is not a good start. But you are young.” He glared. “You _will_ learn.” Adam nodded, hoping that was right. 

“Force Captain Catra.”

“My lord?” Adam smiled. Catra sounded happy. 

“The boy is under your command. Everything he does reflects on you.”

“The sword-”

“Is not part of this discussion.”

“With your permission, my lord,” the lady of shadows spoke up, I can begin investigating his magical properties at once.”

“That is not part of this discussion either,” he growled, “we have a war to win. As to this boy’s place in it? For now he is a soldier. He will submit to our hierarchy and learn the ways of civilization.”

“My lord?” Adam asked. He wilted a little under the red stare.

“Maybe you will be of use to me. Maybe not. For now, here are your first orders. Go.

And cause no more distractions under penalty of immediate punishment.” The Lord rose from his seat, pointing back towards Catra. Adam turned and raced down the steps, stumbling a little, happy to be back with his protector.

**What have you done?**

The Other One’s voice was lost in the din of the crowd leaving as the Lord waved his hand.

Catra’s hand was on his shoulder leading him firmly through the crowd and before long they’d passed through the big square where he’d first met her and out into one of the tributary avenues.

**What have you done…**

He didn’t have long to think about the Other One before a pair of red pincers had plucked him into the air and crushed him against a broad, black-uniformed chest.

“Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you for not being dead!”

“Geez, Scorpia, don’t squish the poor kid.”

“Hi, Scorpia!” Adam pressed himself into the hug, grinning broadly.

Catra watched the little reunion take place. Scorpia would barely put him down and when she finally did it was to embrace her mother. Serket seemed fine with that. The one-time Terror of the Rebellion laughed happily and embraced her daughter openly. Catra rolled her eyes...but she glanced at Adam a moment later...a smile touched her lips. The weird little boy was just happy to be around other people. A doofy smile on his face, a twinkle in his eyes just like-

_Just like Adora._ Her mind hissed venomously. Catra felt her mood sour at the thought. She wasn’t thinking clearly and if she’d let her emotions overtake her during her mission and Hordak found out...she thought of Octavia’s fate and a paranoid thought took root in her mind.

Hordak wasn’t giving her permission to use him as a weapon, she realized, free of the pressure and excitement of the throne room. This had never been Adam’s test alone. 

It had been hers. And it still was.

Her skin crawled. When Adam tried to take her hand she pulled away, more sharply then she meant to.

“You,” she forced a smile, “you don’t need me to hold your hand right, booger? You’re a big boy.” She flexed an arm. “Tough, right?”

“Ah!” Adam flexed proudly, looking very smug. 

“Well,” she said, “a tough soldier like you must be eager to get your own bunk, huh?”

“Um?” Adam cocked his head.

“Lonnie?” Catra called over to injured trooper. She’d been hanging awkwardly at the edge of the moment. “We’ve got an open bunk in the barracks. Adam can take that one.”

“You want to put him with all the others?”

Catra frowned meaningfully.

“You got a problem with that?” Lonnie settled into a stern glare.

“Awful eager to get away from him, aren’t you? Kid wouldn’t stop talking about you the last few days-”

_Oh, this lecture is not happening._

“Of course he did. I’m a big deal. And you are my subordinate. Help your _squadmate_ get situated. Explain to anybody with a problem about this exactly where they can stick their opinion.”

“Sure,” she rolled her eyes, “whatever you say, Force Captain. First, lets talk about what you owe me for this.” Catra narrowed her eyes, a little shocked to get this much pushback.

“I need a laugh. Go head.”

“After my primary service is up? You make me a sergeant.”Catra shook her head and cupped a hand over one pointy black ear.

“Come again?”

“A sergeant. For training Cadets,” Lonnie’s cheeks colored a little, her voice edged, “that’s what you owe me.” She growled at Catra’s mean little smile. “Screw you.”

“It’s just…you must have wuvved spending time with the little monster.”

“Don’t call him that!” Lonnie snapped. Catra bristled. “I mean it. He knows that word now. He doesn’t like it.” Catra sneered, indignant at being challenged so openly.

“Real nice for someone who never stopped picking on her squadmates as a kid.”

“I grew up,” Lonnie said, “and I did what you wanted. Followed your orders. I’ve earned this. And since I know you’ll never say that this is your way around it.”

“Sergeant,” Catra scoffed, “fine. Waste your life. See if I care. But not for a long time, Lonnie, you get me? That promotion is a ways-”

“I didn’t forget who I’m talking to.” Catra bit back a snarl as Adam moved nervously next to her, watching her and Lonnie with growing concern.

“Go with Lonnie, booger,” Catra said, nodding at her, “she’ll get you set up with your very own bunk. I’ll be around. Got a lot of thinking to do.”

Hordak wanted a weapon. He couldn’t hide that. He wanted the blueprints, the sword, and everything. All she had to do was show him Adam could be that. She’d prove it.

_He’s not literate. He’s barely at a healthy weight. Who knows if he even gets what we’re asking of him? Where would you even start? Adora would know. If Adora was here she could figure it out. Adora always had a plan. A way forward. You? You just get lucky. But luck doesn’t last forever-_

“Catra,” Adam’s hand touched her tiger-stripes then drew back, “s-sssorry.” He made a bubble gesture. Catra offered him a real smile, quieting her mind.

“Go easy on you this time,” she flexed her claws playfully at him, “but you watch out.”

Adam giggled.

Catra considered the events of the day and stopped Lonnie from limping away. 

“What happened at that arena anyway?” She didn’t like the way Lonnie burst into laughter. “What?!”

“Nothing,” the soldier smirked and ruffled Adam’s hair fondly, “you just...wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Ooooo,” Catra wiggled her hands in mock awe, “how mysterious!” Adam giggled again at her antics and she found herself growing increasingly fond of the sound, much to her own surprise. 

_Not a big surprise._ A small voice said in her heart. _You always loved making Adora laugh._

She bit down a curse at how easily she let herself slip. She knew what happened when you showed someone your heart. It just meant the hand holding the knife knew where to stab.

But he’d be different, she told herself. He’d be trained right. He would trust her. Be loyal. Be perfect. She had a chance to make it that way. He was magic. That was important she could start there.

_There’s only one person I know who knows anything about magic._ That would be for tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow.

“Home,” Catra said. Adam blinked at her.

“Ooooo-mmmm?”

“Ha,” she breathed, “oooooo-mmmmm.”

“Hoooome?”

Catra drew his hood up, and made a face like she was hiding, ears alert and eyes suspicious. Then she relaxed and pushed his hood back.

“Home.” She said. The boy nodded a little then nodded enthusiastically.

“Home.” A place to feel safe. Not exactly the Fright Zone on the best of days but she’d worry about complexity later. For now she gestured around them at the pipes, the lurking sky, and the beating heart of the Horde.

“Adam,” she said, poking his nose gently, “Horde. Fright Zone.” She gestured around. “Home.”

“Home,” Adam nodded, sounding like he understood at last, though his expressive blue eyes didn’t follow her hands. They watched her and hid none of his adoration. 

She couldn’t fall into that trap. She couldn’t l

et either of them become weak. Adora had been weak and Adora had left. And Adora was never coming back. And she’d pay for that. Adam would help Catra make her pay.

_That sunken place,_ the Karikoni words bubbled in her brain, _grows darker the deeper you dive..._

Adam’s smile shrank into a little line of concer. Catra realized she’d been scowling and plastered on a smirk that she’d used whenever Adora had seemed unhappy. 

“What?” She ruffled his hair. “I was thinking. One of us has to...I got plans for you, Adam.” He gave her a wide, 21-gigawatt grin that could’ve lit the whole Fright Zone.

_Until the light hurts your eyes._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


AUTHOR’S NOTE:  
So, firstly, we are still going on a planned hiatus. Hopefully this extra long chapter will help hold everyone over. I second our apologies for the time it took to publish. Life is hectic for all of us right now but we were so happy to have this ready to go at last. Thanks to everyone who’s read, commented, and chosen to stick with us through the story so far. It’s amazing to see the kind of response this fanfic has generated and we love to hear from you guys in the comments.

With some work we should be on hiatus for a brief time, enough to draft the next few chapters and provide a good read for everybody who joins each update. You guys rock. Everybody stay safe, wear a mask, and trust that we can create a better world. We have the power. 


	16. The Price of Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Best Friend Squad departs for Mystacor, where Adora hopes she'll find answers to the secrets of Grayskull's past and her mysterious dreams, but a dark shadow is looming over them all. Catra seeks a way to unlock Adam's potential, but there's only one person in the Fright Zone who'd know how, and she's the last person Catra would ever call an ally.

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Hiatus went on a little longer than intended but now we're returning with some new chapters to our story. Thanks for sticking with us during the down time and we hope you're all doing well these days. It's a tough time for everyone. We're happy that you're joining us again, or for the first time, as we get back into the tale.

* * *

Adora was getting drowsy. Summer's last few days were rallying and a stifling heat had risen to the very top of the library tower. Between the shelves of almanacs, dictionaries, and thesauruses she searched in vain for answers. Adora stared at the definition of the word 'Honor' and began reading it for the twentieth time.

"Adherence to a right or standard conduct," she yawned, "why'd he make it sound so much more important?" A crackle of energy heralded the arrival of the other two members of the Best Friend Squad. "Hey, guys."

"Ok," Glimmer huffed, "no. No more of this. Adora, this is an intervention!" Adora cocked an eyebrow at her and flipped through the dictionary. She found the word. She woke up a little and wheezed with indignation.

"I do not have 'an addiction or behavioral problem', thank you very much!"

"Adora," Bow stepped in between the two of them, "it's not that. We're not having an intervention."

"She's been running off to the library at midnight for like ten days, Bow," Glimmer said, "this is an intervention."

"No," Bow said emphatically, "this is three friends having a discussion about maybe finding a way to relax for a few days."

"Relax? For days?" Adora frowned. "What have we been doing?"

"Besides getting me flooded with complaints by the archivist?" Glimmer grumbled. "I mean there's a sign right there, Adora, 'leave re-shelving to the staff.'"

"I put them back correctly," Adora protested, "I can't just leave them all over the floor!"

"Ok," Bow clapped his hands twice, "guys, this is not healthy communication!" He pointed at Glimmer. "Glimmer, you've been on edge since Sweet Bee's refused to join the Rebellion." He pointed at Adora. "Adora, you've been running around doing who knows what because of some weird dreams you were having…" he let them both stew, "…your problems, both of your problems, are one hundred-percent valid."

Glimmer and Adora 'hmmmphed' as one but didn't interject.

"Which is why," he turned to Glimmer, "you had a really good idea that I thought you should share," he turned to Adora, "with you. See? That's all. No intervention."

"Fine," Glimmer seemed miffed she'd lost out on an argument but equally placated she was getting her way, after a fashion, "Adora, do you know what a vacation is?"

There was a flipping of dictionary pages. A mumble of words that included 'leisure and recreation'.

"I do now," Adora said, "but, guys, if the dreams I'm having could give me some idea of…" she winced as the word murderer touched her mind, "…my role as She-Ra isn't that a good thing?"

"You being well-rested, relaxed, and happy is also a good thing!" Glimmer snapped. She paused and looked at Bow.

"Good sentiment," Bow offered, "maybe a little less hostile next time."

"Adora," Glimmer said, taking a deep breath, "you are already doing a wonderful job as She-Ra." The normally bombastic princess looked away slightly. "And…I don't think I've said that to you enough. There's weapon shipments coming in from Dryl. Trade with Salineas and Plumeria. Three new princesses in the Alliance." She poofed the few feet over to sit next to Adora, shoulder to shoulder, smiling. "And every single day more people are joining the fight. Because of you, Adora, and everything you've done."

Bow settled to her right side

"We just want to remind you that you aren't alone," he said, "with whatever you're dealing with. You can tell us." Adora was struck again by the strangeness of Bright Moon. She'd been raised believing it was a den of slaves and the magic wielders who held their chains. If she'd never found the sword or worse found it and returned home she'd have marched on it in full, righteous fury.

The power of She-Ra in the hands of the Horde. She fought against the urge to panic.

Murderer. Tyrant. Liar. She was none of those things…but could she become them?

Glimmer's smile to her left, a touch shyer than the bold heart Adora knew she had. Bow's smile to her right, shining and sincere as the light of the moons at daybreak.

'Intervention.' A strange word but perhaps one she could find some comfort in. Maybe she couldn't trust herself to do the right thing but she could trust her friends to guide her.

"Wow," she said, misty-eyed, "Glimmer, that…thank you. What brought this on?"

"Well," Glimmer drew herself up proudly, "I did some very grown-up reflecting and…"

"Her mom told her off for being so bitter about Sweet Bee and asked why the guards were all saying you were running around at night."

"Bow!"

"Friends should be honest with each other," Bow winked, "but we know you meant it all." Glimmer made a face that sent Adora into a fit of laughter, when she calmed herself she looked between her best friends with unhidden affection.

"I want to do right by you two," Adora said softly, "I want to be She-Ra for you. And maybe they're just dreams but…if I could find answers…"

"Glimmer?" Bow said. Glimmer's face puckered like she'd bit into a lemon. "Come on, there's nothing wrong with a little research."

"Beaches," Glimmer blurted out, arms folding over her velvet shirt, "hot springs, and feather-beds woven by magic, Bow." Bow frowned at her and Glimmer deflated under his scrutiny. "Adora…where we're going for vacation is a place called Mystacoar."

"Ok…" Adora said, "and that's good?"

"Adora, you might've noticed that this library is a little…empty?" Adora flushed.

"I didn't want to be rude," she muttered, "but yeah you guys don't have as many books as I thought you would. Not that that's bad!" She said, smiling nervously. "The Fright Zone doesn't have any libraries. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Glimmer pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Adora, we had all those books once but they got moved. Y'know, when we became the front of a fifty year war? Well," Glimmer sighed, "after that actually. My dad was from Mystacoar and he told my mom that, if the worst should happen, at least some of Bright Moon's knowledge would be…"

She trailed off as Adora's nose almost touched hers.

"Are you saying," Adora's voice was low, thunderstruck, "all those books that you guys don't have right now are there?" Bow snickered.

"Just the Bright Moon books? Adora, I don't think anywhere on Etheria has as many books as…ok, that's a little too close." He squeaked as Adora turned her intensity on him. "Uh, if you're looking for She-Ra stuff in books…Mystacoar is where you should go?"

"Well," Adora hopped to her feet, "what are we waiting for? To Mysta-"

"We are not leaving until tomorrow," Glimmer cut in flatly, "I have to pack."

"To bed!" Adora finished triumphantly.

"It's only 4PM!" Bow protested.

"To an early dinner and then a quiet evening!" Adora began to put her books away until Glimmer and Bow physically stopped her.

Shadow Weaver loomed over her scrying basin and touched her fingertips to the thin inches of placid water. Small ripples met and shifted backwards until the surface of the water roiled like a turbulent sea. The water began to glow and slowly calmed into an image of Bright Moon Castle standing white and unassailable far across the Lake Bright Moon.

The end of the old highway wound around the lake to end at a field of refugee tents huddled close to the northern wall, within easy distance of the main gate. The seat of Etherian defiance sat there like a porcelain teapot begging to be shattered. She pressed through the surface of the water, directly into the mind of her Shadow Spy.

"Forward," she hissed, "move forward!" The spy obeyed and Shadow Weaver held her breath under her mask. The image came a few scant inches closer before it shimmered and a second-hand blast of burning pain singed her fingers. "Wretched creature! Weak!" The spy slunk back, barely holding itself together.

Shadow Weaver cursed her former student, the late King Micah, for the potency of his wards. If she could only slink inside the walls of that Castle she'd end this war in an hour. She breathed through clenched teeth at the flicker of pain in her heart.

"I will get you back…" she promised the silent room, " Adora, I won't let them take you from me." There was a soft, telepathic hiss of interest in the back of her mind. Shadow Weaver glanced at the Black Garnet and saw Dark Dream slowly billowing out of the shadows behind her, red eyes glowing with hunger. "Careful, child," she said with a fond hostility, "do not think of making a meal out of your own creator."

Shadow Weaver. Dark Dream said. Let me help you. Dear mother. Let me help…

"Now there is an idea," Shadow Weaver looked over the image of Bright Moon Castle, "I wonder if you might succeed where your lesser brethren keep failing." Dark Dream's snaking, smoke-like body twisted a little towards the door. "Ah, yes. Catra. You smelled her did you? Let's see if she's brave enough to knock this time."

She is afraid. So very afraid.

"She should be," Shadow Weaver said with a soft laugh, "oh, she should be." A single, grazing knock touched her door and a second later it became three heavy thuds.

"Hey," Catra's voice was louder but not more confident, "Shadow Weaver. I need to talk to you." Shadow Weaver curdled a little at the arrogance of her pronouncement and let Catra stew in nervousness a moment longer. Dark Dream's body rippled attentively, like a ravenous snake smelling a helpless animal.

May I have her? Please?

"No, child," she whispered, "return to your hiding place." Dark Dream floated closer to the door. Shadow Weaver's voice sharpened. "Now." She suffered a touch of vertigo as the creature slunk back inside the gem on her mask, cozying up to her mind with a disappointed rumble.

"Enter," Shadow Weaver said, the door-panel beeped as Catra passed her badge-Adora's badge, Shadow Weaver seethed-over the lock. The door opened and admitted the scrawny figure of her least favorite pupil. Shadow Weaver folded her hands behind her back and fixed her with a flat, impatient glare. Catra saluted.

"Yes?" Shadow Weaver said. "What do you want, girl?" Catra squinted around the room with deeply ingrained caution. Her fur was standing on end at her shoulders.

"Were you just talking to someone?"

"I am alone here, am I not?" Shadow Weaver said. "Tell me what you want or leave."

"I…well, I've been thinking a lot," Catra mimicked her stance, straightening her back to appear just a little taller, "and I think we can help each other." Shadow Weaver smiled in hidden triumph behind her mask. She'd settled for patience when it came to the question of Adam and now, perhaps, that patience would pay off.

"Two weeks of child-rearing is all you can take is it?" The little upstart bristled silently. "No? I am incorrect? Congratulations. I know you, Catra, and I assumed the boy would have driven you to exhaustion by now."

"Adam," Catra said the name meaningfully, "is doing just fine. He listens. But I need…the Horde needs him to be useful."

"Made abundantly clear by Lord Hordak," Shadow Weaver said, "Catra, I know you passed my door three times today," she relished the look of shock that earned, "and I know you are resisting mightily the urge to say 'I need your help'. I will spare you that and simply ask again. What do you want?"

"Adam is magic." She blurted.

"An accurate if woefully amateur assessment," Shadow Weaver said, moving towards her ward as the door slid shut behind Catra, "and you have come to the one person in the Fright Zone who understands magic, yes?" Catra scowled at the floor and then jolted as Shadow Weaver's finger brushed her cheek gently. "Really, now, that pride of yours will be your undoing. What other option do you have? I'm relieved to see you being sensible."

"So…you'll do it?"

"I have not said that, have I?" Shadow Weaver floated over to the large communications screen on the nearby wall. "Lord Hordak must be informed of such experiments." Catra's eyes widened and she took a step backwards.

"I can go if-"

"This is your idea," Shadow Weaver turned slowly to her, "and you will present your case." Catra's eyes flicked nervously from her to the screen and then, briefly, to the Black Garnet. Dark Dream keened softly at what was undoubtedly a flash of fear. Shadow Weaver bit back a growl of frustration. "Present yourself humbly, difficult as that might be for you, and the worst he will do is say 'no'."

"I'm ready," Catra huffed, taking a stance next to her.

"For your sake I hope so." She twisted the dial on the monitor and the screen slowly bloomed to life. Lord Hordak turned away from the skeleton of a machine that Shadow Weaver recognized from the blueprints she'd unsuccessfully tried to translate. The one-person flying transport. She filed away that knowledge for whatever use it might provide her.

"My lord," she bowed and was pleased to see Catra following suit, "Force Captain Catra has a matter to bring to your attention." She moved back at once, leaving Catra standing ram-rod straight, tail kinking nervously behind her.

"Be quick," Hordak snapped, "has something happened to the child?"

"No, my lord," Catra said, voice rising and dipping with anxiousness, "Adam is fine. He's…doing really good actually. He's learned a lot of names and-that's not what's important." Catra cleared her throat and seemed to rally. Shadow Weaver watched her performance with sadistic glee. "I think we would be best served," her practiced tone was evident, "if we investigated his powers…er, magical properties, Lord Hordak." Hordak turned to Shadow Weaver, impatience written across his face.

"Preliminary tests might be valuable, sire," Shadow Weaver offered, "to learn, at the very least, how precisely his abilities might manifest. In case we need to better contain or restrain the child in future incidents." Catra's head half-turned, mouth open to protest but she showed enough sense to stay quiet.

"Very well," Hordak said to Shadow Weaver, "preliminary only. Nothing that might damage him. I expect a report on this in a few days. Begin at once." He ended the call without waiting for a formal bow. Catra blinked owlishly at the screen.

"Why so surprised," Shadow Weaver said, "did you expect him to object?"

"I…" Catra shook her head as if waking up, "…what's 'preliminary' going to mean for Adam?"

Shadow Weaver's mind was already racing with such ideas. Questions crowded her mind, one after the other, on the sheer potency of their newcomer's magic. This was her stepping stone to the sword. And another piece of the puzzle that was Adora's new powers. Shadow Weaver's contentment was genuine when she answered.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that," Shadow Weaver said, "I will handle this personally. You must do only exactly as I tell you."

"But…he agreed just like. Like that!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

"He wants to know as much as you or I," Shadow Weaver said, "but Lord Hordak must present himself a certain way. He is our leader. He is the future ruler of this planet. Understand that before you present your ideas to him if you wish to avoid any unpleasantness."

"Where was this pep talk three minutes ago?" Catra griped.

"Shall I do everything for you?" Shadow Weaver said. "You learn best through trial-and-error, Catra, I've learned this from years of proximity. Now, go fetch the boy and bring him here." She winced at a sudden flare of furious anticipation from Dark Dream. Then fully clutched at her temples as it boiled over.

Yes! Yes! Here. Bring him! Give me the boy! Let me have him! You promised it to me. You promised it!

"What's with you?" Catra gasped. The reminder she was present gave Shadow Weaver a place to anchor her fury. A flash of the runestone magic in her system served to intimidate both her wayward charges.

"Be silent!" Catra half moved towards the door and Dark Dream cowered away from her fury. "Silence. I will not explain myself or my actions." She glared at Catra. "The boy. Bring him here at once so that I may determine how best to proceed."

Catra took a step back and then, to the mage's frustration, stood still and found some reserve of insolence. She crossed her arms with forced indifference, arching an eyebrow at her defiantly.

"Ground rules."

"You are stepping into very dangerous territory," Shadow Weaver hissed, "and you know it, you arrogant little chit. Get out and-"

"Hordak said no permanent damage," Catra cut in, finding some thread to cling to, "and I'm gonna make sure you follow that. I'm here for it all, got that? Adam doesn't stay with you for more than a few hours a day. You don't make him skip meals. He comes back with me by 1700 each day." Shadow Weaver cackled without warning but choked short as Dark Dream hissed suddenly.

Ah! Ah! The taste! Metal! Lightning! No! No amount of snarled thoughts would quiet its mewlings, which grew louder in time with a slow, stony confidence on Catra's face. Poison! Poison!

"Hordak," she said, "made me responsible for Adam. I'm doing my job. Take it or leave it." She wanted to reach out and squeeze the little brat inside a giant fist of magic. Tear a shrieked apology from her. But every pulse of her heart was making Dark Dream cower as it wailed about some horrid flavor of emotion radiating from Catra.

"Impudent," she snarled, "impudent little…very well!" Catra's shock gave Dark Dream a brief respite and it whined in relief as the magicat fell into a suspicious stance near the doorway. "Bring him. I wish to see what I am working with. We will begin his…lessons, shall we call them, tomorrow. 1200 sharp. He is mine for the afternoon." Shadow Weaver, pained at looking so flat-footed and weak, added impotently. "Woe to you if these parameters produce lackluster results, Force Captain."

"Sure," Catra snarked, "you'll make me pay for it." Shadow Weaver straightened up and shook her head to clear the confusion from it.

"Lord Hordak will not be pleased with wasted effort," she glared at the girl, delighting in the way that idea set her off balance, "and this was your idea after all." Catra looked between her and the black screen, teeth catching the edge of her lip in a nervous bite. "But I'm sure it will be alright. I hope so. Adam would be heartbroken to lose his protector, wouldn't he?"

"I'll be back," she spat, jamming her badge against the panel by the door, "make sure you're ready." Shadow Weaver allowed her that desperate broadside with a pleased hum. Dark Dream slunk forward from her jewel when the room was empty. It's red eyes trembled in terror.

Forgive. It begged. Forgive, mother. Please…

"Clearly keeping you contained is doing neither of us much good," Shadow Weaver growled, stalking towards the Black Garnet, "but it must be borne for some time yet." Dark Dream floated by her shoulder, staring in wonder at the runestone. "Stand back, child, lest you be harmed." She turned her voice on the runestone itself when she tried to draw power from it. "Enough. Do not resist me! I am your tether and I will be obeyed." There was a twinge of resistance that vanished pitifully.

Red magic crawled up her fingers in arachnid shapes of light. They entered her body and revived her in a way that food, rest, and air never quite could. She reached out, her power magnified and touched the minds of a hundred little shadow spies, spread across Etheria. Their tiny flickering brains lit up and turned towards their summoner.

"From the farthest reaches of Etheria," she said, "I command you! Be as one!" They surged forward from shaded halls, slithered out of tree hollows, oozed down from black overlooks. In seconds they traversed uncountable miles to coalesce before her in a humanoid shape. A single cyclopean eye gleamed like an orb of red glass. Vacant and unintelligent.

"Crude instruments," she groused to it, "you are crude instruments for so important a task. But I will be too busy to keep watch on Adora's movements." Her heart ached suddenly. It had been months now and yet, to her frustration, she was becoming more unhappy with the distance between them. Her mind refused to stay in one place and wandered her memories. Focusing on such odd occurrences of no real import.

Small things. Pointless things. Her head throbbed with the private humiliation of her own emotions. She'd let herself indulge in such favoritism with Adora, she understood that deep down, despite her own rationale. Adora was special, there was something in her that whispered of power and it had drawn the old witch to her at once.

Think you so much greater than all mortals? She thought with faux-theatricality. Nay, Shadow Weaver, thou art weak as any of them. As emotional. She fed her into the furnace of her anger to build a roaring fire. Adora…you ungrateful girl!

It sputtered and died at once. Any narrow attempt at fury, and she had tried many in the last few months, pierced into her memory and summoned up one of Adora's inane childhood accomplishment that seemed to douse her anger.

"Tying her shoes," she growled to herself, "I spent all morning yesterday miserable over the memory of teaching her to tie her shoes…ridiculous old woman." She glared at the great shadow spy. "Ridiculous creature." In the space behind its ghostly body she grew aware of Dark Dream lurking.

Something primal had entered its eyes as they roved its dark kin. Shadow Weaver suddenly had the thought that, in such contrast, Dark Dream was to her shadow spy what a panther was to a housecat.

Dark Dream was older. Dangerous. Far, far more hungry. The shadow spy, so empty and unemotional, shuddered suddenly with an animal caution. It floated slowly away, turning its vacuous stare on the slowly encroaching Dark Dream.

Adora. Dark Dream whispered. I was made to find Adora.

"That you were," Shadow Weaver said, the idea taking root in her mind, "but that awful boy hurt you, didn't he? Interrupted your purpose."

I can bring her back, Dark Dream whispered in her mind, driving the lesser shadow further into a corner. The shadow spy offered a weak hiss at the threat. Let me do this…then…then the boy could be mine?

"I don't see why not," Shadow Weaver said, too fascinated by her creation's display to give it much thought, "you are hungry, child."

Yessssssss. The shadow spy flared itself out to twice its normal size, eye blinking rapidly.

"Feed," Shadow Weaver whispered, "you are my favorite after all. Feed." Dark Dream's eyes flashed and it hissed something almost like language. The shadow spy quailed back, unintelligible with fear. They collided, vanishing into the confines of the room's broad darknesses.

The mage's mind was assaulted with twin souls. Hunter and hunted. Triumph and horror. Memories, dimly glimpsed, of the dark place between reality from which her powers had flooded decades ago, when she was Light Spinner of Mystacoar. Forbidden secrets hissed between the fighting shadows, words in a tongue that no sane mind could truly understand. Flares of thought that represented their concepts pain and blood in ghastly imitations of flesh.

She reveled in it all. The profane realities that she alone bore witness too. The dread powers she commanded from the abyssal dimension. The singular, natural and yet unnatural fight between her dark familiars. The fading, soul-souring wail of the shadow spy as it was consumed utterly by its greater sibling.

Dark Dream spread itself out of the darkness, a living nightmare returned to a portion of its initial strength. She could feel the intoxication second-hand and struggled to subdue her unruly minion.

"Peace," she soothed, "calmly, child, and do not be overconfident." Dark Dream circled her like a black specter, eyes flashing a deeper red than before. "Go to Bright Moon and wait for Adora to emerge."

Shall I take her then, mother? Dark Dream's thoughts turned to conquest. To manipulation. She saw the little reflection of herself in the creature's aura as clearly as a mother and daughter shared eye-color.

"No," Shadow Weaver said firmly, "report to me at once. Follow closely and I will determine our next course of action." She snapped her fingers once and the red eyes focused on her. She pointed one sharp fingernail at her creation. "Do not glut yourself on nightmares, child. Sip at their fear when it is possible. Read their thoughts when you can and pass along what you learn. Do not let them know what you are or even suspect your presence." Her pale eyes narrowed. "You go with great expectations, Dark Dream. And great expectations net great rewards…" she let a snarl creep into her voice, "or punishments."

I cannot fail you, mother. Dark Dream shrank in size, gleefully diving around the chamber like a black leaf caught in the wind. I will bring my sister home. I will.

"Go now, child," she said, "remember that light is your enemy. The shadows will protect you best."

The boy…will he be here?

"You must focus," Shadow Weaver snapped, "do not think on the child."

Only…

"Yes?" Dark Dream's eyes twinkled with red malice.

When I return…may I see? Your memories of how you'll torment him? Shadow Weaver put a hand over her heart in perfectly sarcastic shock.

"What you must think of me," she scolded, "I do not torment anyone, child. I teach. The student determines how difficult the lesson is. Now begone. Bring her home."

Need I be…gentle…with her, mother?

"Bring her home," Shadow Weaver repeated, "nothing you might do will damage her beyond my ability to repair." Dark Dream faded into the shadows and scant seconds passed before their proximity seemed to double in distance before peeling away entirely. She felt almost drunkenly dazed for a moment. Then her bearing returned.

"Alone at last," she muttered, turning to the Black Garnet, "now little Adam…what questions will he answer first?" She cleared her arcane slab and began to assemble a few mundane instruments of research. A reference book of investigatory spells. A quill and grimoire, her preferred method of recording her findings. She pulled the stopper free from an ink bottle and sniffed at the sharp, nostalgic smell. She'd have to type it up at some point but for now it was as if she were a young acolyte again.

As if she'd never fallen.

The distraction was helpful and awoke the inquisitive spark in her mind that had been her lone companion in the long years of her life. With a neat hand she wrote the initial plans for her experiments and lost herself once more in the pursuit of knowledge.

"'Woe to you'," Catra hissed to herself in a mocking voice she used only when she was certain Shadow Weaver couldn't hear her, "'now begone or I shall get out my freaking thesaurus'!'" She snarled at herself, barely noticing as a patrolling soldier suddenly turned to give her more of the hallway. "When I'm giving you orders, old lady, the first one will be you can only use two syllable words."

Asking for help was bad enough. Asking her for help was almost unbearable. The Barracks awaited her, quiet and empty, though still smelling faintly of the bodies that lived there. She opened the door and wasn't even in the room before Adam was crouched at the end of her old bunk like a big-eared, puppy-dog-eyed little gargoyle.

"Catra!" His voice was a sharp chirp of happiness. She knew he was going stir crazy, cooped up in the barracks all the time, but that wouldn't be forever. He grinned at and she felt a sudden twist of anxiety at her plan.

Too late. Shadow Weaver said Hordak's expecting it now. No turning back. Adam crawled down the bunk ladder and vibrated in place, waiting for them to leave and do something. He was desperate for action. She grinned at him, finding his enthusiasm at once hilarious and strangely entertaining.

"Been a good soldier today?"

"Good!" Adam nodded. He'd begun picking up certain words faster and Catra was pleased to see him understand 'good' was, for lack of a better word, good. She used a few signs she'd come up with to get her point across.

"Didn't try to snuggle with one of the trained killers you share a barracks with last night?" Adam shook his head. "Didn't scare anybody by climbing around the rafters and dropping down on them?" Adam shook his head. She snapped her teeth. "Didn't bite Kyle again when he brought you lunch?"

Adam paused then looked away with a shameful shrug.

"Booger, did you?"

"Yesssss," Adam said. Catra cackled and he cocked his head, waist-length hair pooling on one shoulder before cascading over his purple tunic.

"Good work," Catra said, "you're getting there." Her good humor began to leak slowly away as she considered the days ahead. "…Adam?" The boy perked up. "I…I need a favor."

"ffff ay….?"

"Nevermind," she said suddenly, regretting the attempt, "listen very closely." She tugged one of her ears gently and Adam nodded, leaning forward a little as if it would help him understand. His eyes were big and trusting. Catra looked everywhere but at them.

"We are going," on 'going' she pointed into the hallway, "somewhere else." Adam's face split with a grin. "Don't get ahead of me, booger. You have to visit with…" she brought her hands up to her face and they froze there.

A childhood of neglect, broken up by the worst kind of attention, replayed itself in her mind for the millionth time. The loneliness. The resentment. The flashes of terror lit by red light and branded on her mind with pain. All the little humiliations and injustices.

You can't! A small voice yelled in her brain; petulant and demanding and in need of someone's-anyone's-care. She'll hurt him! And you'll just let her!

It has to be this way. She thought back at it. A few days. Days. This time next week it'll be over.

"Just for a little while," she was mumbling.

"Catra?" Adam asked. His little face was all scrunched up, eyes searching her for some clue. She could tell how badly he wanted to know what she was saying and she knew, in his head, he was hoping he could get it before she had to tell him.

"With…" she swallowed the pain and the heartache. Her strength came from the rejection. Loneliness taught her independence. Resentment taught her self-worth. Terror made her sly and quick.

The glares. The harsh words. It all served a purpose. It all meant something. Catra knew it. It meant she was tough, too tough for Shadow Weaver to treat fairly. Shadow Weaver was scared of her, had always been scared of her. Shadow Weaver hated how precious, perfect Adora doted on her. Like that was her fault somehow.

What about the deal! That terrible little girl's voice again. You take care of him and the big guy helps you!

She blinked. She'd almost forgotten about that, lost in her own thoughts. A flicker of relief died in the breath of Shadow Weaver's words.

This was your idea. She was trapped. Again. Shadow Weaver had tricked her again.

"C-catra?" Adam's voice was smaller. Afraid. Catra realized she'd twisted her face into a truly hideous snarl of anger. "Sorry?" He tried shyly. Catra fought the instinct to growl at herself and breathed out slowly.

"It's ok," she sighed. "Better I just show you." She watched him uncurl from his fear and it brought an easy smile to her face that made him smile back. She nodded at the hallway. "March, booger, we've got an appointment."

As always, Adam was nearly impossible to keep in one lane. He needed to see every sight. To pause and listen at every noise. To, much to Catra's frustration, touch every object.

"Adam," she said, voice rising a small amount in warning, "put it down." She jabbed a finger downward. Adam held a scrap-collector bot, the shape and size of a dinner plate, as it's tiny metal digits danced helplessly in the air.

"Sorry," he said, placing it back on the ground and watching it scurry away. "Catra?"

"Bot." She said. "You remember 'bot'?"

"B-bot?" He frowned. Then made an expanding motion with both arms, before drawing them together. Catra rolled her eyes as she caught up to him.

"Some are big," she gestured out and then brought her hands in, "some are small." Adam pointed at her.

"B-big," he pointed at himself, "smaaaall?" Catra caught his nose softly between her index and middle finger, applying no pressure as he laughed at the contact.

"Yes, tiny booger," she said, snickering, "you are small. Pocket-sized. Tiny." She laughed. "Concealable. Like a switch-blade." This was better. If she'd told him he'd be miserable and neither of them wanted that. Better to go about this quickly. She laughed again. "Little. But you've got some pretty big magic inside. Time to find out what it is."

It was, in retrospect, the one time she'd ever laughed going to the Black Garnet Chamber. Adam puzzled at the intricate red symbol on the door. Catra ran her fingers through his hair once and gave him a careful look.

"Good," she said.

"Good," Adam replied, nodding.

She knocked on the door.

Adam watched the red jewel symbol rise into the ceiling. The doorway opened to a room of near darkness. His eyes jumped to the big red gemstone and went wide. He felt, by the hair standing up on his arms and convulsion in his belly, an incredible power crackling from it. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it.

He thought at the Other One. Asking what it was and why it was like that. Unsurprisingly the Other One did not answer. He rarely did in the last week since he'd chosen to trust Catra and not take back his sword. It made Adam mad but also a little worried. They couldn't give up on each other could they? The Other One had always been there to protect him.

A figure emerged from behind the gemstone and Adam wished, as hard as he possibly could, the Other One would protect him right then.

"Hello there," Shadow Weaver said, "it has been some time hasn't it, little one?" Adam backed up, preparing to flee and felt two strong, clawed hands pin him to the spot. He turned unbelieving eyes on Catra. She was frowning. Adam cupped both hands over his face, hiding all but his eyes, which he turned into narrow little triangles of menace.

Then he jabbed a finger at the woman he was imitating.

"Catra," He pointed, making the masked face of Shadow Weaver once more. "Catra!" Catra's eyes became, for the barest second, hateful as they looked at him.

"I know," she said through her teeth, then faltered, "it's ok, Adam, I'm right here."

"So much for the brave little warrior," Shadow Weaver floated forward, Adam struggled only a little against Catra's hands, "the poor thing is shaking, Catra."

"He remembers you," Catra spat, "what do you expect?"

"From him," Shadow Weaver laughed, "almost nothing. But I imagine I'll learn a great deal." She crooked a bony finger. "Come here, child."

"No!"

"Ahh," her white eyes crinkled with mirth, as if the defiance entertained her, Adam's stomach twisted up, "there it is. Few people have ever said 'no' to me and suffered no punishment, Adam, but you are a rare case. I can be very forgiving if I choose." Her voice became threatening. "And if I am so inclined I can hold a long grudge. Lucky boy that you are I have decided to assist you." She crooked her finger. "Come here. Now."

The hands on his shoulder moved him forward.

"It's not forever," Catra was whispering, almost to herself more than him, "it's not forever. Just be good and you'll be fine."

"Come closer," Shadow Weaver was saying, terrible interest in her words, "let's have a look at you…"

"Catra?" Adam asked.

"Adam," her voice was stern, suddenly almost scary, "there's no getting out of this so just go." Her voice softened and sent him into another spiral of confusion. "Ok?"

O-k? O-k! No! No-no! No.

"I'm trying to help you," Shadow Weaver hissed, "and you don't even realize it. Ah, Catra, I see you've done a commendable job getting him up to speed." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Now kindly get him to listen or I will have to make myself perfectly clear on my own."

"Adam!" Adam yelped and spun in place. Catra's face was hard. "Go over there. Right now!" No change. No last minute wink or smile. No tremor of doubt. Adam didn't understand even as he obeyed, boots scuffing softly on the floor as he approached the dark figure.

Was it because he'd been bad? What had he done wrong?

Shadow Weaver was so much bigger than he was. He was so much smaller than her. Her frigid hands were on him a moment later and he felt very, very sorry for the little bot he'd been handling earlier. If it had been like this he'd never ever do it again.

She was touching his shoulders, then his arms, muttering softly to herself.

"Interesting," she said, her eyes were glowing with pallid light, "very interesting. This will need a closer look tomorrow." His brain lit up with terror.

"To…mmmmm..ar…oh." He said like the words gave him a belly ache. That meant again. That meant he had to come back! "No."

"Oh, yes," Shadow Weaver said, absently making a little cage over his heart, feeling the hummingbird-wing beat through her fingers. "Yes, little Adam, we've not even begun yet." Her fingertips followed an invisible line down to his stomach. "That is unique." Adam could stand it no longer.

"No!" He slapped the witch's hand off his stomach and leapt back, crouching and hissing, baring his teeth and daring her to risk her fingers.

"You wretched little beast," Shadow Weaver sighed, flicking her hand once, as if he was something slimy she'd plucked from a riverbed, "what should I expect? Force Captain, I believe I need your help explaining the rules to our newest soldier."

"Adam," Catra said, he whirled to look at her. She was stomping forward, arms tensed with nervous energy, "you have to listen to what I'm telling you-"

Her words vanished into a cry pain. Adam watched her freeze up, her fur spiking up all over as a sheen of red magic fell across her. Her claws curled into her palms, drawing little drops of blood that boiled away in the crimson electricity. Her pretty eyes were spasming from side to side. Her fangs gleamed, snapped tightly together behind lips curling with pain.

"Bad," Shadow Weaver's voice enunciated in his ear, she'd knelt behind him and placed her left hand gently on his shoulder. "Do you understand 'bad', little Adam?"

"Catra," Adam said. He surged forward and was wrenched back with discouraging ease.

"No, little soldier. That is 'bad'." The lightning snapped like a thousand breaking fingerbones, Shadow Weaver held out her other hand, curled like a dead insect with all its legs pointing inward.

Catra slammed to the floor, a shriek rebounding off her clenched teeth back into her throat.

"No!" Adam grabbed at the witch's hand, fully prepared to bite her arm if it would make her stop. She kept him in place with her maddeningly firm grasp and sighed with annoyance.

"Really, boy. 'Bad'."

Catra tried to form the word 'stop' and produced a noise like a train roaring through a tunnel. Adam cried out, chest heaving with his panic, utterly powerless to intervene.

"No," he moaned. He struggled afresh.

"Stay still," Shadow Weaver hissed in his ear, "no more dramatics, child. You are the one doing this to her." She jabbed one finger at Catra, making her curl inwards at fresh torment. Adam, overwhelmed, turned to bury his face against Shadow Weaver's outstretched arm, seeking whatever shelter he could.

"Ah!" he cried out as fingers tangled in his hair.

"Adam," Shadow Weaver said, "Adam." Adam strained against her then froze as understanding exploded in his mind. Catra in pain.

"Adam," he said, miserable and hateful. "Adam." His fault. It was his fault Catra was getting hurt. "B-bad."

"Few things reward the soul like teaching," Shadow Weaver's hands relaxed and Catra slumped to the floor. Soft, almost monotone sobs reached Adam's ears. He tried to step forward.

"Adam," Shadow Weaver said, a smile in her voice when the boy went stone-still at the merest sound, "best let her be. The skin can be very tender afterwards." She turned him with a gentle movement. "Now. Be good. Stay perfectly still."

Adam obeyed and hated every second her awful fingers touched his stomach. Despised the way she peered at him like he was a thing instead of a person. Despaired at every little grunt of pain from Catra as she rose shakily to her feet.

"We'll learn much more tomorrow," Shadow Weaver said, "but the boy has something inside him. A well of some kind. I can feel it drawing at the magic in the air but its weak just now." He flinched slightly when her fingers touched his cheek. "Now now." She cooed mockingly. "Don't pout, Adam. No one likes a poor loser." She dragged her finger along a little scar just below his eye. "Hmm. You understand why I did that to her?"

Adam scowled even as his eyes watered, skin wrinkling around her fingernail when she pressed harder.

"Boy," she said sternly, "Catra was in pain…" she curled her free hand again, "because of what? Who?"

"Adam," Adam mumbled.

"Who?"

"Adam!" His voice cracked as he yelled. The tears slipped past her finger, she wiped them away.

"Shhhhhhh," she offered, "hush. No need for those. She is no-one worth crying over. And you understand now. That's good. Very good." Her hand moved off his cheek and pushed away his hood. She trapped a long rope of his honey-blonde hair between her two longest fingers, like a bobbin strung with gold fibers, and ran it down gently. "Oh, heavens, this is simply not acceptable."

Adam gulped and shuffled from foot to foot.

"Catra," Shadow Weaver called over his shoulder, Adam peeked slightly back towards his friend, heart breaking at what he saw. Catra's knees were facing each other, her feet angled poorly against the floor. Her hands gripped the doorway for dear life. Her mane had been skewed wildly by Shadow Weaver's cruel magic and her face was hidden.

"Oh, Force Captain!" Shadow Weaver said in an annoyed sing-song.

"What?!" Catra choked the word out. She turned a burning golden eye on them both and it was filled with more hate than Adam would have thought a person was able to hold. Shadow Weaver rubbed her fingers together, the locke of hair between them twisting and bouncing.

"This boy's hair is straining the very boundaries of protocol. See that it is cut by tomorrow morning. Am I clear?"

"Yes," Catra coughed.

"About…" she moved her fingers up the strand, stopping when they touched the top of Adam's right ear, "here, I think. Such lovely hair it would be a shame to simply cut it all off. Don't you agree?"

"Adam," Catra gasped raggedly, "come on. We're going."

"Until tomorrow, little one," Shadow Weaver said, rising and folding her hands inside the sleeves of her robes, "I do hope you are as excited as I am."

"Adam!" Catra made him jump when she yelled. He hurried outside after her as she limped into the hallway. Her tail hung limply behind her and her hands swung low by her hips. There was a bitter emptiness in her eyes now and that made him afraid. He reached out for her and cringed back when she pulled her arm away.

"Don't," her voice was cracked and dry, tired, "its nothing I haven't dealt with." She tried a smile that turned into a full body shudder of agony. "Let's go…get you that haircut. I'll race ya…I'll…" Catra's legs stopped working.

"Oh!" Adam yelled. Her metal mask rang like a bell as she collapsed onto her face, one leg cocked at the knee under her. "Catra!" He hopped around to where her head lay and got on his hands and knees. "Catra?" He rested his palm in her hair and tried to stroke gently, the way she calmed him down. When he put even the slightest pressure on her scalp, both of her hands snapped up to snare his smaller one. He tensed.

If she was going to hurt him at least he'd deserve it. All at once, her right leg spasmed and then her left. Her fingers danced around his hand like they were playing an instrument. Her ears twitched asymmetrically. A groan billowed out from under her. The strange, limp spasms passed a moment later and Adam breathed again when Catra groaned.

"The first aftershock is the absolute pits," she mumbled and lifted her head with great effort, "hey, booger."

"Sorry…" Adam said glumly.

"Listen," she said, Adam tugged one of his ears, "that's it. You got it. Listen to her and this'll be over before you know it." She plucked at his hair. "Jeez. You really do need a trim and I don't even like haircuts. Snip-snip." She mimed scissors. "Give me a few minutes. Go…go make sure no-one comes through here, ok? Help me protect my street cred." She shooed him away and he left. Adam hoped it was the right thing to do. The good thing.

He'd already seen enough of what happened when he made a mistake.

Tomorrow. He glanced fearfully back towards Shadow Weaver's chamber and tried to swallow a ball that had suddenly caught in his throat. Catra lay motionless, her slow breathing the only sign she was alive.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Hold and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra serves as an unwilling assistant to Shadow Weaver's experiments as the two seek answers on Adam's condition. Adora's searches for the truth behind She-Ra's purpose in Mystacor's archives, but it starts out less productive than she'd hoped. Adam makes a new and unexpected ally.

Editors Note:

Thanks to everyone for the wonderful feedback and warm reception we got from our last chapter. We're very happy to be back! And it's very encouraging to see how invested many of you have stayed in this story. 

I would like to take a minute to post a trigger warning for the chapters ahead. Many of you have astutely pointed out that Shadow Weaver is not the best supervisor of children. Homer wanted you all to recognize that she will feature largely in the chapters to come, and her mistreatment of Adam will be very reminiscent of how she has historically mistreated Catra and Adora, so please be prepared for this kind of material. We hope you've all stayed safe and happy in the last few months since our hiatus started, and that you continue to do so. Until next time!

* * *

Adora had not slept well at all. The morning moon found her tensed atop a stump in the far north-eastern edge of the Whispering Woods, so far back from the front the animals still came close enough to observe her without fear. The woods lacked the abandoned, dangerous feeling of the area closest to the Fright Zone.

Yet dread darkened the trees. 

She had nightmares about Catra in the grip of Shadow Weaver’s cruel magic. Over and over again, in her dream, Adora watched her suffer. She couldn’t move, long fingers held her in place like she was a little girl all over again, feeling the slightest pressure in Shadow Weaver’s grasp sending long-buried terror running anew.

_I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s my fault I won’t do it again! Leave her alone, you're hurting her!_ The words wouldn’t form and the shrieks that hissed through Catra’s clenched teeth chased her into the waking world, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Since then, each time she’d try to control her breathing and remind herself where she was, a dark whisper pricked her and sent her into another cycle of anxiety.

‘ _Shadow Weaver wants my head!’ How would you know if Catra’s even still alive?_

“Stop it,” she growled at herself, “focus!” When they got to Mystacoar she could lose herself in research. Forget the nightmares.

_Forget her. That’s what you do best._

“Just stop,” she breathed.

“Adora?” Bow yawned as he sat up. “You say something?” She checked to make sure Glimmer was asleep and worked up the courage to admit her worries.

_Tell him how you abandoned Catra. Tell him what you left her to suffer. Alone._

“Tired,” she said, “just tired.” Adora squeezed her eyes shut against the stretched-out feeling of exhaustion and for a moment she thought she caught sight of a small black shape, like a crow, observing her from the canopy overhead.

  
  


* * *

Adam watched from his blanket cocoon as the biggest group of soldiers crowded out of the barracks. There was little chatter so early in the day but he’d enjoyed watching them throughout the two weeks he’d spent sharing their living space.

It had seemed nice at first. Sleeping a few feet from Lonnie and surrounded by people on nearly all sides. The humming noises and metal bangs in the walls had kept him awake the first nights but seeing no one else spring to action had soothed him. He learned by observing them.

And by getting in the way. No-one had hurt him, but a few had yelled quite loudly until Lonnie, if she was there, stepped in. There was a feeling in the air that Adam didn’t quite like. If he made too much noise or became the center of attention it crept up his spine. They didn’t like him, he understood that, but it was the way they all seemed to _fear_ him that upset him the most.

He hadn’t hurt anybody since he’d started living there and he didn’t know how to make amends for something he hadn’t done. So he’d taken to waiting as all the others woke, bathed, dressed, and wandered off before he began to move around the barracks. As he watched them pass by, he checked off names under his breath.

Chloris, who slept beneath Lonnie’s bunk. She was a small, antlered woman with dappled skin like a doe. When no one noticed, except for Adam, she had a softness in her eyes that was almost sad and it vanished the moment anyone approached. Following her was a huge, bald human named Gan. Gan’s eyes strayed to the girl in front of him briefly, filled with unspoken feeling. Adam hardly understood them at all.

The way they acted every day told him they were all afraid of each other and somehow at the same time yearned for closeness. It found release in the brief jokes and whispers each shared with a select few or one of their comrades, but Adam sensed, as he sensed it in himself, the unspoken dream that their little barracks could be more than it was now.

It could be a home. A safe place where nothing from the outside could harm you. But for now, even he knew, that was as distant as moons in the sky.

“Force Captain,” someone said as they left the room. Adam perked up at the increasingly familiar words. He turned a small smile towards the door but it fell almost at once. Catra looked terrible, even as she offered him a sly grin. Her eyes were dark with sleepless rings, her fur matted, and, try as she might’ve to hide it, Adam caught the moments a toe or finger would curl suddenly like they’d twitched the day before, when Shadow Weaver had harmed her.

“Morning, booger,” she said, “get up. Got a surprise for you.”

“Hi, Catra,” Adam said, wriggling free of his blankets. Catra’s nose scrunched up.

“Ew,” she said, miming a toothbrush, “stink-breath. Go clean up.” Adam paused and glanced back towards the tiled room at the far end of the barracks. He could still see some people at the sinks. “What? Come on, Adam, don’t be a wuss.”

“Mmmm.” Catra’s tired eyes narrowed at him and he scooted to the edge of the bunk. “O-k.” Her face relaxed.

“Thanks,” she rolled her eyes as he descended the ladder one-handed, his free hand keeping his hood up the whole while, “Ugh, it’s just hair, booger, it grows back. Trust me.” Adam slipped his feet into either boot with extra slowness, lacing them up slowly, the way he’d been taught. When he’d made bunny ears on either boot he rummaged in the drawer at the foot of the bed and retrieved a small red toothbrush, a little box of floss, and a bland white tube of toothpaste.

“Geez, its like *you’re* the one she blasted you with the magic,” Catra grumbled to herself, “c’mon Adam, _let’s go_ , we’re burning moonlight here.”

He shuffled to the barracks showers and Haomane, a willowy young man with long, pointed ears, spat out the water he’d been gargling with and slid around him to leave. Two humans, Ulrik and Atiqtalaaq, moved to the far end of the sinks and pretended not to notice. Adam walked to the line of a half-dozen sinks and gripped the slick edge of the steel counter.

He hoisted himself up and sat on a dry spot, turning to look at himself in the long mirror over his shoulder. He seemed small, framed by the six large showers across the room. He snipped off some floss, as Lonnie had taught him to, and began to clean between his teeth. He licked at the coppery taste of blood, flexing his lips at the little pain in his gums.

Top and bottom, twice over. Then he switched out for the toothbrush, barely registering the small, non-smell of the goop he put on the bristles. As he scrubbed, a shower curtain swung open with a clattering of metal rings and a sour-faced human stomped out, still half-asleep.

“Um-mo,” Adam said to himself, lips stained white with toothpaste. Marg. Marg wasn’t a nice person. The trooper was dressed in a black pants, pulled on after his bath, and all his wiry muscles and tattoos were on display. Adam was strangely entranced by the one on his right bicep, the winged symbol of the ‘Fright Zone’, of home. It danced as the young man flexed his arms.

“Oh for,” he growled, brown eyes catching sight of him, “what are you doing in here?”

“Hi,” Adam tried. Marg gave him a gap-toothed snarl and sulked over to the middle sink, glaring into his own reflection. He had short, dark red hair and a tall, wrinkled forehead. He caught Adam staring.

“Get your eyes off me, freak,” he snapped, “or I’ll pull that hood down around your neck.” Adam swallowed a mouthful of foamy spit and hacked loudly.

“S-sorry,” he squeaked. What if Marg told Shadow Weaver? Would that count as him being ‘bad’? Would she hurt Catra for it? Adam rinsed, collected his things and slipped down to the floor. Barely paying attention as Marq muttered the word ‘freak’ after him.

As he landed, his boot hit a puddle and he stumbled forward, his hood slipping back. There was a cold breeze around his ears and his face turned pink when he heard Marg exclaim loudly.

“Whoa,” he chuckled, “hey, you two see the kid’s new haircut? Got ears like a spout-snout.” Adam flipped his hood up and hurried from the room, not comprehending the words but understanding the mean laughter. Marg was quiet and sullen most of the time. He never seemed happy about anything.

Catra was perched on the lowest railing of his bunk, tired eyes burning back at the room he’d just left, cat-ears swiveling back into place. She pushed back his hood and stopped him from pulling it back up.

“They’ll just keep talking about it if you try to hide,” she said, gesturing at the ground, “wait here.” Adam stood there glumly flexing his hands against the desire to cover his head once more. His hair was all cut off. Barely brushing the tops of his ears. No bangs. No long strands tickling his arms. He felt so exposed without it.

There was a commotion behind him and he turned in time to see Marg’s face slam into the bathroom mirror. He gasped and covered his mouth as Catra hissed something, claws digging lightly into Marg’s scalp. Ulrik and Atiqtalaaq hurried into the barracks, eyes wide and mouths clenched tight, to don their black armor before rushing by him into the hall.

Marg came out hunched in the grip of the shorter Catra and was shoved to his knees in front of Adam. Adam’s eyes followed the three little lines of blood running down the young man’s face, each one beginning at one of the black claws in his hair.

“Marg has something to say to you,” Catra grinned at Adam in a way that made him fidget with the bones on his tunic, “don’t you, jarhead?”

Catra was mad. She’d been mad at the hair-cutter last night too. The hair-cutter, a middle-aged man with a paunch, a long mustache, and a gold ring in his left earlobe, had argued with her, using words Adam didn’t understand. He’d shook his head and kept tapping the little device on his wrist. ‘Late’. That was a word he’d used a lot. Then Catra had shoved her little plastic badge in his face and roared at him.

The man was hurrying to apologize when Catra snatched a little black rectangle off the hair-cutter’s table and pressed a button on it. She grabbed him by his shirt and cut off half his mustache, screaming in his face the whole time. Adam had hidden under a strange chair with red cushions, terrified he was next. But the hair-cutter, ashen faced and quiet, had simply picked up some scissors and held him still while he clipped off all Adam’s hair…or most of it.

He’d been stock still, too scared to protest as Catra paced behind them both.

“Hey!” Adam jumped, realizing belatedly she was yelling at Marg. The trooper looked down and hissed something through his teeth.

“Ah?” Adam asked.

“I said,” he trembled out, “I was sorry kid. Didn’t mean it.” Catra smiled.

“Want a free punch, Adam?” She made fist with her free hand and jabbed the air. Adam shook his head rapidly, perplexed why she’d even suggest he hit someone that wasn’t hurting him. That wasn’t fair…

“C’mon, kid. He won’t thank you for it, you know,” Catra said, her smile disappearing, “right, Marg? Remember when old Sergeant Blast used to kick us around at the Academy? And you were the first one to start stumbling during marching maneuvers? We’d cover for you and then when he caught us at it you never stepped forward to take the heat. Remember?” Marg was silent as a corpse. “I remember Marg. We all do.”

“Catra,” Marg licked his lips, “come on, man, let me go. I did what you wanted.”

“What’d you say to me?” A fourth trickle of blood framed his pale face.

“Force Captain,” Marg stared past Adam, “ma’am, may I please-“ she shoved him to the ground with no pretense of kindness.

“Sure, get lost,” she snapped, then gestured to the blood on his face, “but, uh, you got a little something there. Maybe clean yourself up first.” Marg crawled to his feet and retreated to the barracks showers. Adam tensed when Catra turned his way, awaiting his own punishment. She gave him another half-there smile and beckoned him over.

“Um?” Adam said as he came closer. She materialized a little purple plastic bottle and pushed it into his hands.

“Ta-dah,” she chimed, “I was thinking with your new look you could use some new soap. Won’t go through it so quick without all that hair.” Adam sniffed at it and found himself smiling. That nice smell. He remembered it from his first night in this strange, scary new place.

Sharper than anything he’d smelled before. A gift from his new friend. Catra had been scary that night as well, but she’d ended up being so nice. The kindest person ever. He liked the smell for that memory.

“There’s a smile,” Catra sighed, tired eyes looking even sleepier, “finally. Alright. Time to eat. Then we’ll walk around a little and then it's time to visit…” she trailed off and Adam’s stomach tightened as he remembered Shadow Weaver. Catra saw his face and groaned. “Adam, look. I messed up. Okay? But it's not my fault! Shadow Weaver is just tricky like that. And either way, this isn't going to be forever.” Adam’s fingers deformed the plastic bottle as they squeezed it. Catra’s voice grew rougher. “Listen, this little show *better* not be because you’re worried about me, alright? _Knock that off._ It’s nothing I can’t take, I went through way more of this kinda treatment before you came along. I don’t need sympathy.”

“Sorry,” Adam mumbled hopefully.

“And quit that too,” she snapped, “that ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ stuff. Just learn what you can from her and tough it out. Tough?” She flexed an arm. Adam nodded with sullen obedience. “Good. One day we’ll get back at her. Trust me.” Adam squirmed as Catra’s eyes went hollow and angry again. “She has a lot to answer for. Way more than you know.”

“O-k,” Adam said. He deposited the soap in his drawer and stood up for inspection. Catra looked him over, sniffed the air around him and nodded. He automatically reached for his hood but she stopped him with a look. “O-k.”

“You’ll thank me for this Adam,” Catra sighed, “or… ugh… or at least you’ll get it. I hope. Honestly, you gotta understand that I’m _helping_ you right now! That’s the deal we have.” She cupped her cheek. “Right? Deal?”

“Deal…” Adam nodded, trying not to think about his short hair. Or the dark witch. Or Catra, crumpled on the ground, in horrible pain.

* * *

  
There were at least three-dozen books in front of her. Maybe asking for ‘anything with First Ones in the titles’ hadn’t been a good starting search. She was in a high, spiraling tower of lavender stone. One of the best studies available to the mages of Mystacoar. 

She picked up a pink book and read off the title. ‘First One Ruins of the Karikoni Islands.’

“Piles,” she said, blinking away the exhaustion of her sleepless night, “Yes, No, Maybe.” She had a few days to pull this together. Then they’d be heading back to Bright Moon. “Maybe.” She placed the book past the little wall of literature, in the middle.

“First Ones: A Poetry Collection by…no.” Off to the left went that book. She hovered over the next book and grinned at the familiar title. “Hey there! I remember you form the reference book.” ‘Princess of Power by George and Lance of the Whispering Woods! Yes.” She triumphantly placed it to her right, feeling rejuvenated.

Ten minutes later the ‘yes’ pile had grown by three books. The ‘no’ pile had five additions, mostly fiction or, in the case of ‘They Came From Beneath!’, a ‘true account’ of someone’s abduction by the ‘First Ones’ and subsequent experimentation. ‘Maybe’ had grown the most. A full ten books tall.

“It’s a start,” she said, “better than nothing.” She plucked a well-worn, soft-backed book from the pile. The cover featured a woman in angelic white embracing a satyr woman on a battlefield. “Wow, the artist really messed up on those curriases, both of them are barely covered! Hmm. ‘The Power of Love: A Tale Of War and Romance.’ Romance. That’s one I haven’t heard before…” she opened to the first page, “please be aware that content in this book may not be suitable for children…must be a really boring one. Research heavy. Let’s just…” she flipped a few pages in and read.

She turned red to the roots of her hair after three sentences.

“Oh this.. that… that is NOT how you’d treat a commanding officer!” She read further, feeling her innocent imagination become forever sullied. “No! No no no! That’s a no!” She slapped it into the ‘No’ pile.

A few seconds later she shifted it to ‘Maybe’. 

“Moving on,” she cleared her throat. All thoughts of protocol, shame and ‘the swanlike dip of her neck’, vanished a moment later when she happened upon a promising title. “Voice of the Ages: Deciphering First Ones Language’. That’s a ‘yes’. ”

It was slow and lonesome work, but by lunchtime she had a place to start. She glanced at the door to her private study and for a moment willed Bow and Glimmer to bustle in, as dedicated as they had been two days ago to drawing her out of her shell. She pushed away the distraction.

Shadow Weaver had always told her to shut out the world when she needed to focus. Be that in the heat of combat or during long hours of training. Perfection required loneliness.

 _Few people become great, Adora,_ she’d said, _they all have been lonesome. Greatness is a solitary achievement._

A sharp rap on the door made her bang her knee into the table.

“Come in,” she said through gritted teeth. It was not, as she hoped, her friends. The tall woman who entered was dressed in humble, but well crafted robes of blue and violet. The gold circlet that orbited her black hair like a planetary ring signaled her high station. The effect was diminished only slightly by the bright pink teapot and cups on the tray in her hands. She offered Adora an exuberant grin.

“What a little scholar Glimmer’s made friends with!” Castaspella declared. Adora made to clear a space but a little nod of the Archmage’s head had her piles, still neatly in order, floating just below the ceiling in a matter of seconds. Adora gaped at them as Glimmer’s aunt made herself comfortable.

“I hope you don’t mind I decided to use Darjeeling tea. It’s my favorite.” She settled the tray between them and, dainty as could be, poured out a long line of musky-sweet smelling liquid to the very brim of each cup. She gave Adora a fond look. “Glimmer and I used to have tea parties.”

“Oh,” Adora smiled, awkward as Castaspella was extroverted, “um…I used to have tea in the Horde.”

“Wonderful!” Castaspella said. “Perhaps they’re not all so bad in the Fright Zone.” She laughed at that and Adora forced herself to as well. The Archmage was a good-willed hurricane of a woman. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. What on Etheria are you researching? When you said you wanted to go right to our library I was quite surprised. I can’t figure out what the mighty She-Ra would need from us humble scholars.” A twinkle in her eye as she sipped her tea told Adora to laugh politely again.

“Any help, honestly,” Adora said, “I’m…still figuring this whole thing out.” Castaspella’s eyes warmed and she handed Adora the spare cup of tea.

“You’re twenty? Twenty two? One shouldn’t ask a lady her age, of course, but I have been trying to figure it out.”

“Eighteen, actually.”

Castaspella’s face changed, she didn’t frown or become concerned, as Adora had feared, instead she seemed utterly shocked.

“Why…my dear…so much pressure on someone so young,” she pushed the tray of sugar cookies in Adora’s direction, “and here you are spending your vacation trying to read up on destiny.” She smiled-Castaspella’s eyes had laugh-lines that stood out when she did so-and cocked her head. “Eighteen. My goodness. I was still a few years from apprenticeship at eighteen.” Adora looked up at the floating books.

“I just need a little help,” she said, “just enough to figure out…” _Murderer. Tyrant._ She shook her head, “…what exactly I should be doing as She-Ra.”

“Plenty of old stories about the She-Ra. Heroism. Standing up for what’s right. Glorious death in battle …” Castaspella winced, “not that you should be thinking about that!”

“Well,” Adora frowned, “that’s just it. That’s what I trained for…in the Horde.” Castaspella gave her a strange look that blossomed into understanding. She didn’t force a smile when she realized the implications.

“I see,” Castaspella said, “interesting dilemma.”

“What if She-Ra…isn’t the hero everyone thinks she is. All these books about the First Ones. I’ve skimmed them but what little everyone knows...” she trailed off, considering words like ‘balance’ and ‘destiny’.

“Gives rise to a hundred hopeful interpretations,” Castaspella finished for her, “what we leave others is hardly as clear as we think.” Castaspella frowned. “You know, my brother faced exile for joining the Rebellion.”

“King Micah,” Adora recalled that ‘aunt’ had a very specific definition, “exiled?”

“He and all the mages who went with him,” Castaspella rose and paced the room, her tea forgotten, “that was our way. Mystacoar stays out of Etherian wars. And he simply said ‘fine, just watch me win it’.” Castaspella begin worrying the moon pendant on her robe.

“But that big statue of him in the hall? Why’d they build it?” Castaspella stared out the window, into the bright autumn day laying gently on Mystacoar.

“He was great,” she said, her voice softer, “greatness deserves recognition.”

“Greatness,” Adora said, “is lonely.”

“Hmm,” Castaspella snickered, “oh, he wasn’t alone, my dear. So many people followed him. He was like a planet drawing moons into his orbit. A hundred heroes, so many of them gone now. I wanted to go to. I was barely out of apprenticeship then and he said…”

Castaspella let the sentence fade away and pursed her lips.

“What?” Adora asked. She realized, distantly, she was praying but she was caught up in the moment. People could be so open outside the Fright Zone. Honest, vulnerable. Each time she’d seen it happen it was like a weight lifting from their shoulders. They seemed stronger, more radiant. The Archmage simply waved a hand and smiled again, big and welcoming.

“Oh, what’s this sad talk? You were studying and I interrupted.”

“Not making much progress,” Adora raced to fix her mistake, berating herself, “um, I could use your help if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, dear,” the Archmage shook her head, “I’m sure there’s not much I could say. You are She-Ra, after all and perhaps the greatest authority we have on the subject.” She tapped her chin. “However…yes, that could work. Adora,” she sat up straighter at being addressed so, “I’m going to have a talk with our chief librarian. I make no promises but I may have some items that could shed a little more light than even the best researchers from our more…removed era.”

“Please,” Adora said, eyes lighting up, “anything!”

“We’ll see,” she smiled, “enjoy the tea and the cookies. Glimmer asked me to remind you that dinner is at six-thirty.” She smiled, a little less bright than before. “Can’t do research on an empty stomach! Try telling any of the young acolytes that though you all…excuse me _they_ all forget sometimes how important a dinner with friends can be.”

“Right,” Adora said, shifting awkwardly in her seat. Castaspella waved her hand and the books descended like gently falling snow, finding their place around the snacks the Archmage had brought. Adora picked up her first ‘yes’ pile book and began to read.

* * *

_Don’t freak out._ Catra’s eyes had squeezed themselves shut a moment ago and she had given up forcing them open. _Don’t freak out!_ Her tail was wrapped twice around her thigh, her claws pressed threateningly into her biceps as her arms crossed like a straightjacket over her chest. _Just keep it together._

She could still _hear_ those things. Something about how they moved. Like every footstep was a whispering mouth. She cracked one eyelid gently. She caught the barest image of the scene before her. Adam was on a little black stool, dead-center of the chamber, she could faintly catch the scrape of his fingernails digging into the wood.

_He’s fine._ She thought. _No lasting damage. Hordak will gut her if she does anything wrong but not him. Adam is the safest person in this room._

Figures circled him, the size of children, linked by small, stick-thin appendages almost like arms. They had red eyeballs that caught the boy in the center of crimson spotlights, lighting up his scrunched, terror-stricken face. He’d sucked in his lips to keep from crying out. He was trembling, that was obvious, but he refused to express his terror.

_Brave little guy._ She thought fondly. _You got this._ Shadow Weaver hated weakness of any kind. Fear, she could tolerate, even enjoy if it was sufficiently present. But weakness was another matter. Any tears. A single plea for mercy. Those did nothing but fire her rage to a hellish heat.

The shadows made their round about him in a horrible little chain dance of dark magic. One squat figure passed him by, then it’s red eye surged toward her, the glow of its eye piercing through her cracked eyelid as her mind flashed with words.

_What? What? What is? What is This? This thing? Strange thing. See you. Let me see you. Catra, Catra is your name. Hello, Catra. May I see? Let me see. See you. See all of you. Into you._

It could see her. Through her clothes. Through her skin. Down past her bones and into the very parts of her that she kept hidden from everyone. Even herself.

She bared her teeth and closed her eyelid tight. A fading burst of thought from the creature expressed disappointment, almost like it was a child being scolded. Magic burned through the air and in her mind, as the shadow finally released, she heard a muffled shriek like an animal being murdered through a concrete wall. She risked a peek.

The shadows had been vaporized by red magic, making her head swim with the lack of any discernible remains. No bodies, obviously, but neither was there smoke or a scorch mark. She was beginning to wonder if she’d imagined it all when Shadow Weaver spoke from near the Black Garnet.

“You may open your eyes now,” she said sharply, “you silly child.” Which of them she was criticizing did not really matter. Adam’s cornflower-blues opened slowly and shot over to Catra first. Catra let him stare into her eyes and calm himself down before she crossed them and stuck out her tongue.

Adam giggled, weakly. He looked beyond tired.

“Catra,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was low and dangerous, “do not make me regret letting you in here.” The mage moved forward, the dim light and Catra’s throbbing eyes made her seem as insubstantial. Almost like a ghost.

“So?” she settled against the wall. “What’d you get from that?”

“That is not how this works,” Shadow Weaver said, floating towards Adam with her hands clasped behind her back.

“I’ve been standing here for three hours,” Catra huffed, “give me _something.”_

“Oh, you’ll get something in a minute, you stupid little girl,” Shadow Weaver hissed, turning her lambent eyes on Catra, “if you don’t shut your mouth!”

“No,” Adam said, his voice was sticky, “no! Catra, shhh!” He glared at Shadow Weaver, fear in his eyes but a challenge boiling there as well. He smacked a fist to his chest, rattling the bones on his tunic. “Adam!” He flexed one tiny arm.

“My,” Shadow Weaver crowed, “how fortuitous. You’ve gained quite a potent ally haven’t you, Catra? Very dedicated.” Catra’s ear flattened and her face burned.

“Adam,” she ground out, “Be. Good.” Adam settled but his face did not slacken from its hard, ready intensity. Shadow Weaver, pleased, began to fiddle with a steel teapot set up in the corner. There were times Catra hated herself for needing to say _something._ But it was a tic that she almost couldn’t physically control.

“Need me to do that for you again?” Shadow Weaver sighed and moved back to stand in front of Adam.

“Your friend enjoys negative attention,” she said to the boy, “be careful not to make her angry. She’ll get a taste for it and never leave you in peace.” Adam’s eyes narrowed in distrust even as he tried to translate her words.

“This child is a very normal ten year old boy,” Shadow Weaver announced.

“That is what all the,” Catra waved her hand in a circle, “nightmare dance stuff told you? I could’ve told you that.”

“You misunderstand,” Shadow Weaver held out one hand, displaying the edges of her fingers. The skin around her fingernails was cracked with little black canyons of dead flesh. “Magic takes its toll, Catra, even on the wielder. Electricity seeks a conduit as magic seeks a tether. Energy is always trying to move.”

“Ok?” Catra pushed away from the wall, walking over to stand by the witch, close enough to feel Adam’s proximity. It was a comforting closeness that she took courage from. “So your magic gives you some blemishes. Big deal.” Shadow Weaver’s mask turned her way and Catra’s mind flashed briefly to the ruin she glimpsed underneath it once, on a horrible day long ago.

“Adam seems to have suffered no adverse effects from his brushes with electricity. It’s as if he were impervious to pain.” Catra grinned at the implications. “That pleases you, Catra? Well, then. Let me make you even happier.” Her right hand rose, fingers curled inward. Catra had no time to prepare herself before the red magic flared. She threw herself backwards and thought momentarily that she’d at last dodged the accursed spell after years of torment.

Then her eyes slipped right and she saw a tiny body in a purple tunic turned red. She felt an acute sense of failure that nearly floored her then and there. She couldn’t spare him even this simple, horrific experience. All she wanted in that moment was to feel Shadow Weaver’s hands breaking under her grip because she knew, all too well, Adam would be in agony if she touched him.

Adam turned and looked at her, confused and perhaps a little uncertain, but no less the curious, slightly dumbfounded little boy he always was.

“Um? Catra?” His eyelid twitched involuntarily and he reached a hand up to itch his…teeth. He looked over himself, covered in magic and shivered. He smacked at his hands like they had bugs crawling on them. But there was no sign of pain or binding.

“He’s…he’s immune to your magic?”

“Not quite,” Shadow Weaver spoke over the heavy crackling of her spell, “observe.” She extended her fingers like a fly trap opening for new prey. The red magic dispersed, the Black Garnet pulsed weakly, and Adam hopped up from his seat. His arms popped inside his tunic and wormed down to his stomach, rubbing at it. He hummed in the barest discomfort.

“You ok, booger?” Catra asked, her mind still dazed with the events of the previous few minutes. Under the burning desire to know what and how the boy survived was a slowly building sense of triumph.

_You were too tough for her to hurt._ She thought smugly. The weird little boy had just lived one of her most improbable childhood fantasies. He cocked his head and belched hugely for his tiny body.

“Agh, Adam!” Catra leaned back with a grimace. But it was a smell of ozone, not bad-breath, that hit her nose. And inside the boy’s mouth, tiny flares of red snapped like fire-crackers. “Ok. I give up. What? What is all this? He can eat magic?”

“After a fashion,” Shadow Weaver was absorbed in thought, one hand hovering under her chin as she regarded the child. “I set the shadows to find that ‘well’ inside his body. The one that draws energy. I thought it was somewhere by his stomach but…it _is_ his stomach. Metabolizing pure energy. This is a very unique power.”

Catra shivered at the keen interest in Shadow Weaver’s voice.

“Hear that,” she whispered to Adam, “your burps make you special.”

“Catra,” Adam whispered back, flicking his eyes at the door, “hmmm?”

“No,” she shook her head, “not yet, booger.”

“Indeed not,” Shadow Weaver’s voice tilted upwards with interest, “there is a great deal to try now.” Behind her the tea-kettle started a thin whistling shriek. “Adam?” The boy flinched like he was about to be smacked, huddling further into himself. “Does this hurt?”

So saying, Shadow Weaver reached out and pinched a bit skin on the back of his left hand.

“Ow!” Adam stole his hand back with a snarl but wilted at a stern look from Shadow Weaver.

“Be careful, little boy,” she said, “be very careful.” She curled her hand into a claw of crackling magic, washing the boy in another wave of red lightning. As before, Adam seemed uncomfortable but otherwise unharmed. Furthermore, if his anxious wiggling was anything to go by, the binding nature of the magic was ineffective. Shadow Weaver’s hand relaxed and the Black Garnet dimmed behind her.

“Great,” Catra groused, “you’ve made your point. The kid’s a sink for magical energy.” Shadow Weaver snapped her fingers at Adam to get his attention before instructing him to hold out his arm. The skin of his bare forearm seemed pallid in the low light. Alarm bells begin to sound in Catra’s head.

“Oh, beyond that,” Shadow Weaver’s raised the kettle and tipped it forward. She was as relaxed and unceremonious as if she were pouring an afternoon cup of tea even as Catra yelled at the top of her voice. A long line of scalding hot water ran across the boy’s bare skin, little whisps of steams ghosting off his arm as it made contact.

“Hey!” He yelled. He sounded indignant and annoyed instead of agonized. The water ran off his arm and soaked his right pant leg at the hip. Dark lines trickled along the gray material of his trousers, causing no more damage to the delicate skin underneath than a lukewarm splash of water.

“You,” Catra said after a moment of stunned silence, “are messed up in the head.”

“He’s unharmed,” Shadow Weaver said.

“Hordak said-”

“Do you see any permanent damage on the little beast? No. The magic makes him invincible.” She turned to face Catra, the boiling water still in her kettle gave a gravid slosh as it swung near the boy. Adam, on reflex, reached a hand and tried to slap it away.

The bickering pair went silent at the heavy crunch of metal and the loud clang as the kettle bounced. There was a tiny, almost desperate, whistle of steam before it rolled to stop and leaked its contents onto the floor. Shadow Weaver silently flexed her empty hand, her eyes perfect circles of white light. She approached the kettle, using two fingers to hook under the plastic handle and lift it up.

Catra saw what, once, had been a sturdy kettle like the kind Troopers were issued to last them whole campaigns. The shape had been flattened from a round pillar shape to something closer to a rectangle…if a rectangle caved in suddenly at one corner in the shape of a palm and two small fingers.

“I very nearly forgot,” Shadow Weaver was unperturbed, Catra gulped to hear outright satisfaction in her voice, “all that terrible strength.” Without so much as a glance in Catra’s direction Shadow Weaver began to order her out of the room. “Force Captain, make yourself useful and go to the construction site below Comm Tower Three. Retrieve a cinderblock and bring it back here at once.”

“No way,” Catra snapped, “after that trick with the boiling water? You’re gonna drop it on his head or something?”

“I will not engage with you like this,” Shadow Weaver said, “simply do as I have asked.” She moved to her arcane table and began to scribble something down. She sighed heavily when Catra refused to budge. “Very well. I am planning to test the limits of the boy’s strength. How soon does it begin when energy is introduced? When precisely does it expend itself? I’ll instruct him to squeeze parts of the stone and, should the magic fail or expire, he won’t possibly harm himself.”

“That’s…reasonable.” Catra looked at her askance.

“My life does not revolve around causing you harm, Catra, much as you’d like to pretend it does. I am a scholar and I am working with what,” her eyes narrowed at Catra, “and _who_ I have at my disposal. I’d sooner have you go and come back quickly than hunt down some other lackies.”

“ _Lackey,”_ Catra rolled her eyes, “hear that, Adam? That’s literally the nicest thing she’s ever called me.”

“Catra,” Shadow Weaver tapped her quill atop the paper as she selected the most appropriate words to write, “leave now. Or this will take all day.”

“Keep your mask on,” Catra grumbled, “I’m going. I’m going.”

“Ca-tra!” Adam called after her, glued to his stool. She fanned out her hand, dropping the fingers on them in rapid succession.

“I’ll be back ‘soon’,” she gestured again, “ok, booger? ‘Soon’.” The door shut behind her.

“At last,” Shadow Weaver straightened up from her black table and turned on Adam. “Even when she’s silent she finds a way to be irritating. What possessed me to agree to let her attend these lessons is beyond me.” She folded her hands together and towered over him. “Up. Now, boy.”

Adam slid off the stool, hands going automatically to the bones on his tunic. Shadow Weaver made a little hissing sound at him like he was a disobedient kitten.

“Tss-tss,” she snatched his ear quick as a striking snake, giving the briefest tug, “you will not fidget like that. Am I understood?”

Adam built a small, weak growl in his throat. Shadow Weaver’s fingers twisted his ear slightly.

“Ow,” he pulled back and she let him go. He bared his teeth.

“Blood of the First Ones,” Shadow Weaver eyes wrinkled with disgust, “Truely, you’re more animal than child. It doesn’t matter. You will listen to me now and you will listen carefully. I am not going to coddle you simply because you were born outside the civilized world. I have no time for that.”

Adam glared hard at her and balled up his fists to keep from fidgeting.

“Go there,” she pointed at the huge, red rock behind her. Adam crept past her, almost tip-toeing in his boots. His caution diminished the smallest bit when he saw himself reflected in the shimmering red surface of the jewel. It was such a pretty thing.

“Ah,” he said. There was a feeling in his belly. The tingly feeling that happened when the red light came and made him invincible. It was weak but it left a numb hunger in his stomach. He kept his hands at his side with an effort.

“This is a runestone,” Shadow Weaver was saying, “one of five still extant in the world. It connects directly to the magical heart of this planet, siphoning power out of it like a well. You can feel it, can’t you?” Adam could see her reflection behind his own and tried not to look at her searching eyes. “The runestone is old, child, and it has served as a font of power for many, many centuries.”

Shadow Weaver dipped a bit of cloth into her scrying basin and captured Adam’s hands one after the other to rub them down.

“I will be very unhappy if I see fingerprints left behind,” she said, then taking both of his wrists in her cold grasp, pressed his palms to the surface of the stone. It wasn’t hot, like he’d expected, but it wasn’t cold stone either. It was both at once, like a rock that had been submerged half in a puddle with the top baking in the sunlight.

And the tingle in his stomach became a hum as the energy in the room began to focus on him.

“Something is wrong here,” Shadow Weaver said, “it seems you cannot simply leech the magic out of the runestone on contact. That well inside you is still drawing the power…ah. Ah-ha. I understand now.” She leaned further down. “Adam. What are those funny little words you say when you use your sword? Catra told me Adora does something similar. A battle-cry or…an activation spell!” Adam trembled at the way her laughter vibrated near his ear.

“To miss something so obvious…Norwyn is laughing in the afterlife I’m certain.” Her hands pressed his harder to the stone surface. “Adam, go ahead and say the words. You know what I mean.”

“By the Power of-?”

**NO**

“Ah!”

“What, boy?” Shadow Weaver said impatiently. “What is the matter this time?”

**Do not meddle with this thing. It is dangerous.**

“Ah,” Adam said to the Other One. Where had he been? Why had he left? Why didn’t he want Adam to do what Shadow Weaver said?

**Trust me. Try to trust me. This stone is magic. And it is alive.**

_Alive?_ Adam thought, his reflection’s eyes widened in fear. He tried to draw away.

“No no, that is ‘bad’ little Adam,” Shadow Weaver said in his ear, “you remember what happens to _Catra_ when you are bad, yes?”

“Oh,” Adam chewed his lip.

**She would understand. She says she would always protect you? This is protecting you. Get away. Refuse!**

The sound of her muffled screams still rang in the boy’s head and troubled his sleep at night. For Catra. This was for Catra.

**Adam, do not do this!**

“By,” he swallowed the words, “by the power of Grayskull!”

It was like a star exploded in his brain. Images rushed into his mind, crowding for space that wasn’t open. He saw people with scorpion tails and claws. Hair of white and silver and onyx gray. Warriors fighting and dying in battle. Old rulers filled with regrets. Young heroes driven to adventure. At first he was terrified, hating himself for being so weak, then he felt the power filling his body.

It was gloriously potent. When he used the sword the Other One emerged but…this was different. The aches in his body vanished and with them went any sort of fatigue. He could feel the strength flooding his body, real strength, storming through his veins like a charging army. His eyes glowed sapphire blue in the surface of the magic stone and Shadow Weaver’s hands weighed less than air on his wrists.

Wait til he told Catra about-

**_Hello?_ **

**** **** “Eeeeeeep!” Adam squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden, unfamiliar voice. Shadow Weaver released his wrists and backed away.

“What? What is happening now?”

**_Who are you?_ **

**** **** Alive. The stone was alive. The Other One warned him! And he didn’t listen! His heart raced in his chest, so fast it was almost impossible to feel one beat become another.

**_Oh my goodness._ ** The voice was not heavy in his mind, like the Other One’s voice was, but light and gentle. Soft. **_It’s alright. I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?_ **

**** **** “Um,” Adam said. The living presence in the stone drifted away from his mind and hung at a distance. Adam resisted the urge to squint at the red surface before him as if face might appear there.

**_You’re not Shadow Weaver. You’re not my tether. Who are you?_ **

**** **** “Adam?” Adam said.

**_Hello, Adam. I am the Black Garnet._ **

**** **** “Black Garnet?” Adam said, finding the words, by magic, coming to him almost effortlessly.

“You’ve made a connection,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was suddenly caught somewhere between fascinated and furious, “haven’t you! All at once. Not even I could do that…”

Power twitched inside and outside of his body all at once. Drawing from the stone and cycling back into it. Maybe if he took some for himself that would make Shadow Weaver happy…

**_Adam, by no means would that be a good idea. Shadow Weaver hates people coming near me. She hasn’t let anyone do that ever. If she knew you were talking to me…oh. But I haven’t talked to anybody in such a long time._ **

**** **** Adam smiled, feeling the relief and warmth of the spirit touching his mind. There was cold, potent loneliness behind its words that he knew very well. He nudged back with his mind and an image flashed to her of a boy alone in a castle, watching the world go by with no one for company.

**_Yes._ ** The spirit said. **_It’s just awful isn’t it?_ ** A little crackle energy in his belly made him laugh like he was being tickled. **_You’re so sweet to share that with me, Adam. It’s been a very long time since anybody shared a memory with me._ **

**** **** “Mmm,” the boy smiled. The spirit’s presence came closer.

**_I don’t dare give you any power, Adam. But I can give you something. First, disconnect from me. Send the power back. It won’t hurt me. I’m made to store power, Adam._ **

**** **** Adam pouted a little. Then snickered when a spark of energy tickled him again.

**_Trust me, little one, Shadow Weaver won’t care if it was her idea. She hates sharing power. She’ll get angry and if she gets angry…_ **

**** **** Adam’s mind jumped to Catra’s pain and then his sorrow, and his anger, began to narrow towards the runestone. His reflection began to glare back at him. A flood of contrition washed over his mind.

**_I know._ ** The spirit was so heartbroken Adam couldn’t be mad. **_I know how weak I am…but that’s not important right now. I can help_ ** **you** **_. Now…think of a river flowing to the sea. Of a flower under the light. Think of energy moving. You’re pulling it in now, just let it wash away. Let the power return._ **

**** **** “Llll-a-la-let,” he mumbled softly, so Shadow Weaver wouldn’t hear. _The power. Return._ The energy turned away and began to flow backwards. The absence was gentler than when he’d run out of energy earlier. It wasn’t all dried up, more like the tides within him had gone out.

All except for a little ladybug sized jolt that zinged up his spine and settled in his mind.

**_A story. Do you like stories?_ **

**** **** Adam did.

**_I hope you like it. Thank you, Adam. Remember. Don’t tell her I spoke to you._ **

**** **** He mouthed ‘o-k’ at the runestone and pulled his hands away.

“Well?” Shadow Weaver swept towards him. “Speak, child. Or as best you can, explain what occurred.” She circled him once. “There appears to have been no exchange.” She pinched his ear and Adam yipped. “I could see the power flowing…some kind of error in the transference? Too much at once? What happened, boy?”

“Um…Ah?” Adam shrugged and shook his head. He really didn’t understand most of her words but beneath that genuine confusion there was a secret and where there is a secret there is a crack in the walls of the mind. He gestured wildly and then shrugged again.

Something new and frightening entered Shadow Weaver’s eyes. She’d been looking at him like he was a bug most often. Sometimes disgusted, sometimes curious. Her anger was always sharp with annoyance but even that was dismissive.

Now, Adam understood, she was looking at him as a potential foe. Her dead eyes seemed to burn whiter as she leaned forward slightly. A covetousness was betrayed by the way she twisted her hands into claws that clasped him and dragged him away from the Black Garnet.

“Are you lying,” outrage made her breathless, “are you *lying* little Adam? You flea. You leech! What’s going on inside that empty little head of yours? What did you see? What are you scheming?” Adam’s boots scuffed the floor as she lifted him almost off his feet. “That runestone belongs to one person, child. If I even _imagine_ you are telling me lies…”

The door lock bleeped. Shadow Weaver released him and drew back.

“Catra,” she snapped at him quietly, then placed a long, pale finger against the front of her mask, “shhhhhhh.” A little bolt of red magic burst from her fingertip. “Do you understand me?” Adam nodded rapidly. She nodded at his stool and went back to it. He resisted the urge to run to Catra as she shuffled inside, a huge block of stone resting against her middle.

“Ok,” she grunted, “I’ve got the…the stupid…uf!” She set it down heavily. “Cinderblock. Let’s get testing.”

“The lesson is over,” Shadow Weaver’s voice was once more arch and dignified but the madness of her greed still peeked at him from the depths of her eyes. “Both of you get out. We will continue tomorrow.”

“What did I get this for?!” Catra indicated the cinderblock.

“I have finished speaking,” Shadow Weaver turned and pressed her hands to the Black Garnet, black hair billowing like smoke, “leave now.”

“I’m not taking it with me,” Catra said. She looked put-off when Shadow Weaver maintained her silence. “Whatever. Hey, booger, let’s get moving.” Adam knocked the stool over getting off of it and gasped at the clatter of wood on stone.

When they’d safely made it into the hallway, Catra crouched down to him, ears cocking for any sounds.

“Ok,” she whispered, “what happened? What’d you do?” She nodded backwards. Adam opened his mouth to speak and then recalled Shadow Weaver’s crazed actions. And the way Catra had twitched after she’d been tortured.

He shrugged and looked away.

“Thanks, Adam,” Catra huffed, “real helpful.”

“Sss-sorry.”

“Oh, just stop,” Catra said, standing up and beckoning him along, “come on. We’ve got a few extra hours today, better make use of ‘em. Let’s get you back to the barracks.”

Adam walked after her and wondered at the little jolt of energy-the story-the Black Garnet had gifted. He hoped it was worth the trouble.

**Adam,** the Other One growled, **you must start listening to me. I’m trying to help you.** Adam sneered.

“Fah!” He rasped. Some help. Some protector.

**Adam-**

_Go away!_ Adam thought bitterly. The Other One lingered in his mind, silent and sullen until the distance between the sword and Adam evaporated him completely. Adam regretted it later when Catra left him alone in the barracks with nothing but his thoughts.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So,” Bow snapped the book shut, “I now know the ways First Ones architecture affected the construction of the Nautilus Opera House in Salineas. It’s all in the colonnades apparently.” Glimmer flipped through another page of ‘The Power of Love’ and scoffed audibly.

“These enemies-to-lovers books just **do not** make sense to me,” she said, she glanced at Adora, “I mean, like, they’re all over each and its two chapters in! Um? Hello, Centurion Jade? You’re part of the war machine that destroyed Emma’s entire _kingdom!_ ”

“Sure,” Adora said, absorbed in her work, “an empire from…elsewhere? What’s that even mean?” So far the ‘Princess of Power’ book had given her the most information. Which wasn’t saying much. “Where? Where did they come from? Why did they leave? What does She-Ra have to do with it?” The legend of She-Ra carried many titles with it, compiled by the two Whispering Woods scholars across Etherian cultures.

‘Ambassador’. ‘Warrior’. ‘Stranger’.

_Tyrant._ A voice hissed in her head. _Murderer._ She rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache blossoming there. There was something perched at the small window to her left. A black shape with a twinkling red dot in the middle. A crow or a bat.

_Wait._ Adora looked again and saw nothing. _I must need some sleep I must be…_

_Going crazy._ She winced. A heavy weight settled in her gut and she couldn’t think about anything for a moment but the brief flashes of memory she had from that horrible night in the Crypto Castle at Dryl.

Red eyes. Red veins. A dark laugh of triumph rattling her teeth as she slipped back from her own body. Sinking. Screaming without making a sound.

 _If Glimmer hadn’t gotten the sword away from me…_ she peeked fearfully at her oblivious friends. _You’d have killed them. She-Ra the Murderer._

“Guys,” Adora's voice was thick and she coughed on reflex, “you’re not mad at me are you?”

Bow and Glimmer looked up from their books.

“No?” Glimmer said. “About what?” She rolled her eyes. “Adora, we can leave anytime we want. We wanted to come give you a hand.” Bow placed a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder.

“Although,” he said, smiling at Adora and driving some of her fear away, “maybe now would be a good time to call it a day?”

“Yeah,” Adora began to back away from the table, “yeah-yeah. Good idea.”

“Adora,” Glimmer seemed shy all the sudden, “not to pressure you…but maybe you could take a break tomorrow? Just til like noon or something.” She fiddled with her hair. “We really want a chance to show you some of the best spots around Mystacoar. Just to hang out?”

“Well,” Adora’s heart melted a little, “I guess if you want-“

A rapid musical knock at the door made Glimmer cover her face in embarrassment.

“Hello, everyone!” Castaspella entered with a white-robed woman at her shoulder. “Adora, I’m pleased to say I’ve checked with our archivist and we’d be happy to let you see some of our oldest books.”

“Within reason,” the archivist interjected, “and under specific circumstances…perhaps-“ Castaspella laughed musically.

“This is She-Ra, dear, who better to entrust authentic First Ones books too? Adora,” the woman’s kind smile lit the room, “we can have them brought out first thing tomorrow.”

“Erm,” the archivist hummed, “Arch-Mage…please. Some of these texts are ancient.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer cut-in, “and besides we were going to see-”

_First Ones’ writing. Authentic First Ones’ writing!_

“First thing tomorrow!” Adora beamed happily. Glimmer’s mouth snapped shut and her face fell.

“Glimmer?” Castaspella asked her. “What was that, dear?”

“Nothing,” Glimmer said, “I guess.”

* * *

Outside, unnoticed, Dark Dream lapped at the deep pool of loneliness in the Princess’ mind and grew that much stronger. He crawled down through the air as the night darkened around him, seeking out isolated minds to feed on their fear.

Yes. Adora would be his. Soon. She was a wellspring of self-doubt and secret terrors. He slithered into a hall where the little mage Acolytes were already going to sleep. He found a girl who was staring at a broken night-light. Her mind was forlorn and embarrassed.

Dark Dream crawled next to her ear and began to whisper of things in the dark that were waiting for her to close her eyes. And when she began to weep he hissed that her friends could hear and all thought she was a baby.

When the girl had buried her face in her pillow, muffling angry, confused sobs, Dark Dream drifted away to find another meal.

  
  
  
  
  


Author’s Note: Look up ‘Forefather’s Eve’ from the Witcher 3 on Youtube for what I like to imagine is Dark Dream’s theme music. Thanks for reading!


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